Home for Christmas
by Lauren.MacFan
Summary: MacGyver and Sam head to L.A. for their first Christmas together. As always, though nothing comes easy for the troubleshooter. Anonymous threats, a mysterious van, old enemies, and even older emotions soon gather to complicate the holiday season.
1. Chapter 1: Plans

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to **_**MacGvyer**_ **or any of the characters associated with this series. No infringement is intended and I will receive no monetary gain from this story.**

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Chapter One: Plans

Welcome to the headquarters of an international murder ring. The room before you is dark, the temperature cold and the atmosphere tense. At a table along the farthest wall there sit three figures cloaked with shadow. In front of them stands a slender form . . . the form of a killer. He is renowned the world over for his expertise in assassinations and his presence here means only one thing - he has come for an assignment. . .

"You understand what you must do?"

"Yes." This single word was said in a complacent tone. An unimpressed and undaunted look followed, betraying the killer's self-confidence.

Beneath their cover of darkness, the three forms grew apprehensive.

"Sir, I hope you realize the gravity of this mission. If you fail, all that our organization has worked to build, will be lost."

A twinge of irritation flashed across the man's aloof face. Being second guessed was not something he typically experienced and the occurrence vexed him. "I understand," he snapped impatiently. "I can assure you, there will be _no failure_."

Shear cold-blooded determination had never been declared so boldly. It seemed to cut through the air with an icy chill. Even the CEOs' of murder had to flinch at its power.

"Please forgive any trace of doubt, sir, but our apprehension in this matter is high. As you know, all too well, this one has escaped before."

"There will be no escape this time." The easy, self-assured lilt returned as an evil smirk contorted the man's features. "This time MacGyver will die."

XXXXXXX

_You know, I've learned a lot of things in my life. Some of the most important came from my Grandpa Harry. He was a master of good, down-to-earth wisdom and advice. One of the most valuable lessons I ever learned from him was 'always be prepared'. Okay, I know, that's not exactly original; but Harry's the one who let me in on it, so in my book he gets all the credit. Anyway, with the kind of messes I manage to fall into, this bit of advice has helped me more times than I can count. Take now for instance. I was sound asleep, happily buried beneath my covers, when suddenly I wake up. Now, for someone who leads a normal life this might not sound like much of a problem, but in my case . . . well let's just say I _don't _lead a normal life. For me, a sudden awakening can mean only one thing: Trouble. Now, when trouble shows up uninvited, you better 'be prepared' for anything - and thanks to Grandpa Harry, I am - more or less. I just hope whatever is out there, isn't more prepared than me!_

MacGyver laid very still. There seemed to be no immediate danger, so a little quiet reconnoitering became the first order of business. Toward this end, he began an auditory investigation. Given that he was in a motel room, the sampling of noises to be had were quite extensive. After a few minutes of analyzing, however, all squeaks, ticks, creaks, and hums were appropriately isolated. Taking each in turn, Mac mentally deduced their source of origin - a laundry cart, an alarm clock, an un-oiled door, a heating unit, etc. As none of these fell into the unfriendly category, it was on to a new tactic. This time MacGyver concentrated on his olfactory senses. There were nearly as many scents to be found as there had been sounds. Again each was taken individually and examined. Though some were rather unpleasant, none appeared to be hostile. Despite this, Mac still sensed that something was wrong. The hair on the back of his neck had begun to bristle and he had the most disconcerting sensation that he was being watched. Since this mysterious enemy had apparently arrived with no sound and without smell, it would now be necessary to attempt a different approach. Ever so cautiously, therefore, MacGyver cracked open one eye. Peering out from behind a thin veil of lashes, he initiated an optical assessment of his surroundings. This sensory search, unlike the previous ones, was an instant success. Upon spying the intruder, Mac fairly collapsed his tense alert body.

_Sam!_

There, not ten feet away, sprawled comfortably in an old high-back was MacGyver's son. The young man sat perfectly still with eyes trained on what he presumed to be his still sleeping father. His hyper-alert optics seemed an ironic contrast to his liquid limbs which fell loosely about the chair.

Mac took in the sight before him and rolled his eyes beneath their lids.

_I've got to get used to being a regular person again. I haven't messed with any really bad guys in months. For the first time in years I can honestly say that no one is hot on my trail trying to help me leave this earth just a little bit faster. After all, I'm a father now and I'm not a Phoenix agent._

As if to back up this assertion, Mac began repeating the last phrase over and over to himself.

_I am not a Phoenix agent. I am not a Phoenix agent._

Amid this brainwashing session, the former troubleshooter again pried open one eye. Slowly a mischievous smile spirited across his lips. MacGyver had an idea.

From his vantage point, Sam examined the lump of covers that concealed his father. Impatience began to leak out of the young man's body in the form of drumming finger tips.

"Aw, come on Dad . . . wake up already. . ."

As if in response, the mound of blankets leapt into the air. Appropriately combined with an unintelligible shout, this action was enough to send Sam reeling with a yell of his own. The expression on his face instantly changed from impatient boredom to shocked terror. Holding this fear only briefly, his visage soon took on a look of feigned annoyance.

Now, while MacGyver was famous for his quick disarming smile, he was not a man given to much laughter. Soft chuckles, or dare they be called giggles, were occasionally permitted, but only in moderation. Upon witnessing Sam's reaction to his upheaval, though, such conservatism was hard to maintain. Mac's soft, but hearty laughter soon filled the air.

"Oh so you wanna' play huh?" This jovial retort was accompanied by a bombardment of pillows. Where Sam had stored this arsenal, Mac didn't know, but the supply seemed interminable. Shielding himself from the first few blows, Mac soon began retrieving the missiles for a round of return fire. Laughter and dull thuds quickly escalated to intermittent screeches and louder thwacks.

Sam advanced closer to his target for better accuracy, but soon discovered that this was a bad maneuver. Upon landing a solid blow to his father's midsection, he found his arm instantly captured by the enemy. With one hardy pull, MacGyver landed his quarry. The two collapsed upon the bed causing it to squeal in protest. Taking advantage of his present 'high-ground' position, Mac upped the ante from pillow assault to tickle attack. Sam laughed and screamed and for those few minutes time stood still - responsibilities and maturity completely forgotten.

When time began ticking again both men crumpled onto the bed, thoroughly spent. They lay side by side on the now bare mattress, gasping for air between snorts of residual laughter. Their hands wiped away tears from their red faces and held their aching sides.

MacGyver inhaled deeply and cleared his throat. "Good morning son." Though this greeting started out in a controlled monotone, it ended with another ripple of amusement.

"Good morning yourself," Sam grinned retrieving one last pillow to toss in his father's face.

Mac raised an arm to deflect the incoming blow. He then swiftly disarmed his opponent and harnessed the artillery beneath folded arms. With his son's weaponry thus disposed of, MacGyver prepared to open the discussion.

"So what's up?"

Sam rolled to one side, angling himself so that he could see his father. "Huh?"

"You've got something on your mind, or at least you did. I saw that look on your face. You couldn't wait for me to get up so that you could . . . What?" MacGyver left this question as a sort of fill-in-the-blank and waited for the reply.

Jolted back to reality, Sam sat up. The 'look' returned and he began to explain. "I wanted to tell you, that I've decided where to go next. It's my turn to pick, you know."

"Right you are," his father returned enthusiastically. "And we'll go wherever you say, just promise me we're not going deep sea fishing again."

Sam made a face. "Hey, that little excursion was your idea, remember?"

"How was I supposed to know that instead of just sailing along enjoying the view you'd actually want to catch something? We didn't go out there to fish you know, just to bum a free ocean ride from an old friend of mine."

"But as long as we were there. . ." Sam shrugged expansively leaving the rest of his sentence unfinished.

"Yeah, as long as we were there," Mac mimicked. "And you loved it!" His tone was ladled with accusation.

"And you didn't?"

"I enjoyed every minute of it - until you almost went overboard."

Sam colored at the memory. "Now don't go exaggerating. It wasn't _that_ bad."

"It was, so that bad! When that whatever-it-was . . ."

"Marlin, Dad."

". . . grabbed your line, you went head first over the rail." MacGyver had continued his sentence without taking note of his son's interruption. He knew it had been a marlin, but since the incident his anger toward that particular creature was such that he refused to utter its name.

"Okay, I'll admit my equipment had a slight malfunction."

"Slight?" Mac raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, slight." Sam leaned in with an air of confidentiality and continued. "That whole 'headfirst' thing wasn't supposed to happen."

Knotting his still risen eyebrows, MacGyver watched as a smile began to tug at the corner of Sam's mouth. "Son, I know I'm not your boss; and I know that trying to keep you out of harm's way is impossible. . . you've got too much of me in you."

Mac made this last rueful statement mostly to himself, but Sam caught the words quite clearly. He then watched as a self-deprecating expression creased his father's face.

"Trouble magnets - the both of us," Mac muttered beneath his breath. He then sighed, as one succumbing to an unchangeable situation, before setting his jaw firmly. "But, I'll be darned if I'm gonna' let you get stolen by a fish."

Sam laughed out loud at this statement and rolled back on the bed. "Okay, tell you what, from now on we only go fishing where we're bigger than what's in the water. Deal?"

MacGyver nodded approvingly, "Deal." Slapping the bed like a judge dismissing a case, he then reopened their original discussion. "So, where are we going?"

"Los Angeles."

"Los Angeles? Why there?" MacGyver's voice held no disapproval, just curiosity. After all, L.A. had been the starting point of their road trip . . . surely they hadn't run out of other cities already.

Sam understood his father's tone, but for some unexplainable reason he became embarrassed. Absently he traced the stitching along the mattress cover as he searched for a way to begin.

"What's on your mind?" Mac prompted gently.

"Well, it's almost Christmas, Dad and I'd . . ." Sam's voice faded, but soon he tried again. "Well, I'd like to go home for the holidays." Abandoning the trail of stitches, he looked up at his father. "You see, Mom and me, we never really had a home to spend Christmas. She didn't have any close family and with all of our traveling, we celebrated at a different place every year." Sam paused arranging his next thought carefully. "Don't get me wrong - I love rambling around, seeing the world, but somehow . . . I dunno. It just seems like Christmas should be spent in a place that's special. A place that's warm where you're surrounded by things and people that you care about. You know, a home." Sam's obsession with the mattress stitches returned as he continued. "I guess since L.A. is where I found you and where we spent our first few weeks together, it just seems like that should be our home. At least it's the closest thing I could think of." Sam glanced up briefly. His father's face was awash with an unreadable emotion. Unable to determine exactly what MacGyver was thinking Sam launched into an explanation of the plans he'd made. His face soon became bright with animation as he spoke. "I know you don't have the lease on the apartment anymore so I called Mr. Thornton. He said he had a cabin outside of town that you used to stay in sometimes and insisted that we go there. He's even arranged to have some of your stuff pulled out of storage so that it will really feel like home." The energy and rapidity of Sam's speech came to a screeching halt as he suddenly ran out of things to say. "So . . . what do you think?"

MacGyver propped himself up on one elbow. His mind and soul seemed to have been thrown into confusion and he was struggling to regain control. At the mention of Christmas, Mac's stomach had tightened. It was that old empty feeling rearing its head again, but why? True this season used to be hard for him. Guilt and loss had always suffocated the holiday cheer, but events over the past couple of years had changed all that - hadn't they? He had finally started to let go of his pain . . . finally begun to enjoy Christmas just a little - that is until now. Why had it all come rushing back? Mac didn't know. All he knew for certain was that the old emotions suddenly felt raw and fresh. Slowly he took a deep breath becoming conscious of his son's worried gaze. Those eyes were staring at him again. Sending a hand to work through his shaggy hair, MacGyver tried to soothe his upended emotions.

_Come on - its been years since Mom passed away. It's time to put the past behind you. Your son is in the here and now. He is the one you should be thinking of, not yourself and not Mom. This is important to Sam. He needs, no _deserves _to be at a real home for Christmas. You've got to give him that._

With this lecture to bolster his effort, Mac suppressed his true feelings and forced a smile. It was weak and a little bewildered, but it was a smile.

"Well?" Sam's tone betrayed his trepidation. With the unexplained silence that had followed his announcement, the young man had grown concerned that he'd said or done something horribly wrong.

A remaining moment of indecision passed before Mac spoke. "Son," he began, placing a hand on Sam's neck, "I think that's about the nicest plan I've ever heard."

A wave of relief washed over Sam's face. He appeared ready to burst out at any moment with an 'Awesome!' or possibly the predictable 'Cool!'. Instead, though, he simply grinned widely and placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Dad."

Mac swallowed hard. "Merry Christmas, son."

The two sat still for a moment, each considering the other's face. Neither spoke, but somehow in that brief time, they said volumes. Finally Sam gave his father a light clap on the shoulder and stood up.

With an air of excitement he announced, "You know this will be the first real Christmas I've had in years."

This statement caught Mac off-guard. Sitting upright, he fell to pondering how to respond. At last he came up with a question.

"What do you mean?"

"Since I lost Mom, I haven't exactly had one."

"The friends that took care of you - your godparents - they didn't celebrate Christmas?"

Sam looked confused. "No," he began and then smiled. "I guess I never told you. They're Jewish."

MacGyver's face lighted with comprehension and he raised a self-reproaching hand. "I shoulda' known that. You mentioned their name was Schwartz. My mistake."

Sam shrugged. "No not really. I've never told you much about them. Besides, they didn't work very hard at being Jewish. Of course Mom and me never worked very hard at being Irish Catholic either."

As if he hadn't been listening, Mac plunged in with another question. "But you're not Jewish - why wouldn't they let you have Christmas?" Mac suddenly felt a flash of anger. He directed his anger toward the Schwartz', but in reality it was self-hate. Granted celebrating Christmas wasn't exactly his long suit, but for Sam . . . If only he'd known, his son would never have had to miss a Christmas.

Noting the hostility in his father's voice, Sam was quick to respond. "It's not their fault, Dad. They tried to get me to participate in the local Christmas parties and things, but I didn't feel right about it. I just couldn't enjoy myself being away from the Schwartz'. They were the closest thing I had to family and I wanted to be with them. I knew they couldn't take part in Christmas with me, so the next year I asked to participate in the Hanukkah celebrations with them, instead." Sam contemplated his father's face. He could see the anger quickly giving way to embarrassment.

"Oh, I see," Mac's tone was apologetic. He had been wrong to automatically shift the blame and irritation he felt onto the his son's godparents. Obviously they had done the best they could for Sam. As he dwelled further on the situation, Mac began to feel a strong sense of pride. It had taken a lot of respect and understanding for Sam to leave his own traditions and join in with those of his godparents. Very few ten year olds would have had the character do such a thing. "You're quite a young man, you know that?" Mac complimented, looking every inch the proud father.

His son gave an enigmatic expression, half embarrassed and half beaming with pleasure. "Thanks, Dad. You're not so bad yourself."

Mac scoffed at this observation and then seemed thoughtful for a moment. His mind meandered back to Sam's original statement and he fell to contemplating the irony of it all. "You know, I guess this makes us kinda' even."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I haven't really celebrated Christmas since I lost my Mom either."

Sam looked puzzled. "How come?" he asked easing himself back onto the bed.

MacGyver searched his feelings trying to find a good way to answer that question. _Me and my big mouth. Now what am I gonna' tell him? _Mac ran his tongue along one cheek and uttered a philosophical 'hum'. _I don't enjoy Christmas because everything about it just serves as a horrible reminder of guilt and loss. I failed the Mother who was always there for me and I did it on Christmas Day. That's why. _Another 'humph'. _Fine MacGyver. Way to put the past out of your mind. Great thing to tell your kid, too. Try again. _Curbing this mental tumult, Mac punted. "I guess it just didn't feel right enjoying Christmas without her."

Sam nodded and seemed to accept this as a reasonable answer.

Relieved, MacGyver pulled himself to a standing position. "But this year," he began brightly. "We're gonna' celebrate. We may not have our Mom's anymore, but we've got each other. Right?" Mac forced more cheer than he ever hoped to muster and smiled broadly.

Sam responded with enthusiasm. "Right!"

"Now - you go turn in our motel keys. I'll get dressed and load up the bikes," MacGyver ordered briskly.

"You got it." Sam vaulted from the bed and after scooping up both sets of keys, disappeared through the door way.

Alone at last, Mac slouched down onto the mattress and allowed himself to fold backwards. Covering his face he attempted to blot out the gnawing apprehension. The hands that touched his eyes, however, refused to cooperate. They felt cold and sweaty. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," Mac mumbled heaving a sigh. "Man, I can't wait for Christmas to be over."

XXXXXX

The small roadside motel was quite a specimen. To look at it from the outside, one would think it belonged on the set of a 1950s TV show. An ancient bill board, shaped like a plunging comet, decorated the front. It's faded lettering indicated that the facility's claim to fame was actual color television sets and air conditioning units in each room. Now while these attributes would obviously have been quite a selling point for customers back-in-the-day, they were somewhat lacking by 1992 standards. The quasi-abandoned retro theme was also apparent in the structure's paint job. Done in an art deco color scheme, the bedraggled covering appeared to have been part of the original construction. In addition, the dirt-gravel mix parking lot added a route-66-cloud-of-dust type feel to the place. All of these elements piled together, made up quite a picture.

Sam had wanted to stop at this particular location because he said the place had 'character'. Being a photojournalist he tended toward the aesthetically interesting as opposed to the practical or comfortable. MacGyver had held no objection, however - being somewhat of a romantic himself - and so it was here that they had spent the night.

The area surrounding this monumental hovel was dusty, flat and thoroughly uninviting. Desert land seemed to stretch interminably toward the horizon. Miles rambled out in all directions and aside from the occasional tumble weed, they lay without disruption. Though this terrain might appeal to some, it was hardly ideal for an assassin that wished to remain undetected. The emptiness of it all made it impossible to approach without being spotted . . . but then, as a wise man once said, "the best place to hide something is in plain sight".


	2. Chapter 2: The Threat Surfaces

Chapter Two: The Threat Surfaces

MacGyver had just finished strapping down their saddlebags, when Sam emerged from the lobby. After leather jackets had been zipped, helmets secured and bikes cranked, father and son then pulled out of the parking lot. Sam led off taking point position while Mac fell in behind him. Out of habit, the troubleshooter checked his mirrors. He took note of a blue Ford E150 van which was also leaving the motel. It turned in their direction and began to accelerate. Within minutes the vehicle was baring down on MacGyver. After covering several miles while practically riding the Yamaha's exhaust pipe, the van at last pulled away initiating a pass. Mac noticed the move and was grateful. He hated close quarters driving - especially when the odds weren't in his favor. E150 versus motorcycle just didn't sound like much of a contest. As the obnoxious Ford sped past, father and son became engulfed in a cloud of dust and spraying gravel. Once the debris settled, Mac inhaled a deep refreshing breath. The clean dry air felt good. Now out in front, the ill-mannered van still decorated the road, but at least it was no longer a safety hazard - that was the important thing.

Sam, however, was not so easily satisfied. He found himself quite annoyed that despite its high rate of speed, the Ford still managed to remain within range of his optics. For some reason the sight of that hideous blue mass leading the way, irritated him beyond belief. Granted the landscape was not conducive to losing the vehicle entirely, but he wished that it could at least become more of a dot than a mass. Toward this end, Sam squeezed the brakes lowering his rate of speed.

_For someone who was so anxious to get around us, that guy certainly hasn't gotten very far. He needs to step it up, having to creep along at 45 miles per hour like this just goes against the grain. Imagine me, the speed demon, driving below the legal limit! Dad must think I've lost my mind. He's probably worried, too. Parents are strange like that . . .they harp about your bad habits, but then if you ever change they get worried. I've never been able to figure that out._

While Sam mulled these observations over in his mind, Mac began doing a bit of pondering on his own. Aside from worrying that his son might be coming down with some sort of rare 'slow' disease, he also began to take note of the blue van's lack of progress. The line of thought he followed was very similar to Sam's (minus the deviation regarding parental high jinx of course) and he arrived at a rather unsettling conclusion: he was thinking like a Phoenix agent again.

_I've got to stop that. So what if 'following' someone can be accomplished by passing them and remaining out in front? Just because this van is acting the part doesn't prove anything. After all, how foolish would it be for someone to try tailing us out here in the middle of a desert? This area has far to great a visibility range. No one in their right mind would pull a stunt like that . . . Of course men who break the law don't necessarily have a reputation for being long on sanity._

Ignoring this last thought and focusing on the rest of his rationale, MacGyver tried to shake his growing feeling of unrest. Intuition, though, would not leave him alone. It screamed that something was wrong and that somehow he and Sam were headed right for trouble.

XXXXXXX

Pete Thornton sat in his office chair with an air of serenity. Helen, his ever loyal secretary, stood close by reading a long list of items that required his attention. The litany of minor disasters, seemed to fall in stark contrast to his blissful mood. Obviously the man's mind was not on his work. Sensing this lack of concentration, Pete shook himself and attempted to train his mind on the latest bit of news Helen was reciting.

". . . operatives in the outlying districts are reporting highly unfavorable results on Project Lynx. The head man, Doug Netsy is requesting additional funds to continue their research, but the Phoenix Board of trustees has expressed a desire to abandon Lynx altogether. Netsy would like for you to employ your persuasive powers and possibly call in a few markers, in order to keep the project going."

There was a pause in Helen's speech. To his consternation, Pete found that his attention had, again wandered elsewhere. Knowing that the interval of silence was his cue to respond, he tried to think of an all purpose answer.

"Of course, sounds fine." Thornton delivered this reply with confidence hoping against hope that it actually fit the occasion. Helen did not offer any feedback on this answer, but she did give her boss a long sideways glance. Pete sensed the look and instinctively felt that he must have erred. Not wishing to discuss the matter, however, he refused to admit the mistake. Upping his show of confidence therefore, he prodded her for the next item. "What else do we have?"

Shrugging off this oddity, Helen obediently continued down her list. "Mr. Willis called in this morning and asked that you check into a shipment of microchips. His department was supposed to receive them two days ago and they still haven't arrived. Willis seems to think the package may have been intercepted by an underground revolutionist group that specializes in hacking. He says they have been responsible for several similar incidents with other agencies like ours."

"I'll get right on that," Pete nodded agreeably.

Helen gave Thornton another peculiar look. Though this comment had at least been in-keeping with the context, its delivery was very uncharacteristic. Where was the indignation, the upset, the fire? In order to answer this question, Helen decided upon an oblique approach. "Last night the ninth floor ceiling collapsed and three mad scientists blew up the lab."

"Well, that's not too bad . . . What?"

"Just checking to see if you were listening, sir," Helen soothed.

"Of course I'm listening," Pete muttered. The recurring sensation of being under the all-knowing gaze soon convinced him that he'd been found out. Murmuring a bit under his breath, he then offered a sheepish admission. "I heard part of it anyway."

Helen shook her head triumphantly. "Just as I thought. Do you want me to finish reading the list now or would you rather wait until later?"

"Oh, Helen I'm sorry," Pete apologized in a bemused tone. A light chuckle then came as preamble to his next comment. "I'll try to focus now, really I will."

"If you'll excuse my impertinence, sir, may I say that this isn't like you," Helen's voice betrayed her concern. "Do you feel okay? Is everything alright?"

"Alright? Everything's perfect - except for the ninth floor and the lab of course." Before the studious secretary could react to this jocular observation, Pete pressed on. "Guess who's coming for Christmas?"

Given her boss's current mood the first answer that came leaping to Helen's mind was 'Santa Claus'. Resisting this impulse, though, she tried to think of something more appropriate. "The President?"

Pete laughed. "No - even better than that. MacGyver and Sam!"

"Mac! That's wonderful."

As Pete was about to fill his secretary in on the details, a third voice floated into the office.

"My, my - do I know when to come and visit or what? Talk about a double feature. I get to see you and the retired Mr. Fix-it all in one trip!"

"Nikki? Nikki Carpenter is that you?" Pete questioned doubting his own ears.

"In person. Let me look at you Pete."

Thornton stood and worked his way around the desk.

"Oh you look wonderful," Nikki announced.

Pete didn't answer, but held open his arms. The invitation was accepted and the two friends hugged each other fondly. After a moment, Thornton pushed Nikki to arms length. Fighting through the encroaching fog he managed to steal a refreshing view. "You look lovely, what I can see of you anyway. Say, what brings you to L.A.? Don't tell me the European branch of Phoenix has discovered it can live without you?"

Nikki flashed a smile and laughed lightly. "No, nothing so permanent. I just decided that now would be a good time for a vacation."

"Director Carpenter," Pete began warningly. The rest of his admonition proved unnecessary, as Nikki held up her hands in surrender.

"Alright, so there was some business that needed doing here in the States. I volunteered to do it just so I could come see you - that makes it almost a vacation, doesn't it?"

Pete smiled proudly. "That's my girl, you haven't changed a bit."

Carpenter gave her former boss a pat on the shoulder. "It's good to see you Pete." Holding the touch for a moment, she then proceeded to other matters. "So when will I have the pleasure of seeing my favorite fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants field agent?"

Pete chuckled at her tone of indifference. "You two were always so great together," he mused sarcastically. "Like quarrelsome siblings both of you . . . and I always seemed to end up in the middle, like a referee or a frazzled father."

Nikki offered an awkward smile. In an effort to deflect some of her own embarrassment she turned the analogy back on Pete. "Well, Poppa Thornton, when _do_ I get to see my favorite brother? Not to mention my newly discovered nephew. I'm quite interested to meet this 'young MacGyver'."

"Oh, you'll like him," Pete prophesied. "He's just like his father. So much so that I would like him to come and work for Phoenix one day. Of course part of the deal would have to be that he bring his old man along, too. Can you imagine having two MacGyvers on staff? Why it would . . ."

"Be _too_ much!" shot in Nikki.

"It was just a thought," Pete chuckled raising an indifferent hand.

"Yes, well let's just leave it at that shall we? Now when are the double trouble twins arriving?"

"According to Sam, they should be here sometime tonight. I spoke with him early this morning and he said they were up near Gerlach Nevada."

"Gerlach? What misguided wind took them to that god forsaken place?" Nikki questioned.

"I haven't the vaguest idea, but apparently they've been there all weekend. When Sam first called me on Saturday they were at the nearby town of Empire. There must be something up there of interest."

"Yeah - desert," Nikki stated with distaste. "Of course, knowing Mac he probably took his son out for a little jaunt in the Black Rock country."

"Well, I really don't care where they've been, it's where they're headed that excites me." Pete's words fairly dripped with enthusiasm. "The only trouble is, how am I ever going to get any work done? Look at me - I'm positively giddy."

"Well if there's a way to work, I'm sure you'll find it, Pete. That's just your nature, giddy or not," Nikki replied encouragingly. "And speaking of work, I have a few things to take care of downtown." A quick check of her watch produced a cry of dismay. "Oh my gosh, I'm late already. Pete, I've got to run, but can I claim you for a lunch date at about one o'clock?"

"Helen write that down: one o'clock, lunch with Ms. Carpenter," Pete ordered briskly.

In response the secretary clicked her heels and scribbled the note onto a pad.

Nikki smiled. "Thanks Helen. Well I'm off." Giving Pete a hasty good-bye hug, she then hurried to the door. Before leaving, she indulged a brief, reminiscent pause.

Pete sensed her presence and offered a parting smile. When her hesitation still remained, he gave her a gentle verbal push. "Well don't just stand there gawking - you have work to do," he prodded with mock severity.

"Yes, sir Mr. Thornton," Nikki's voice was soft and filled with affection. "See you soon, Pete." With that she disappeared.

Once Nikki's footsteps had faded, Pete sighed. "Well back too work, such as it is . . . Helen?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Give me another shot at that list of yours. Only this time, let's not be too ambitious, huh? Hit me with them one at a time - we'll tackle these monsters in single file. What do you say?"

"Yes sir," Helen answered smartly, "And since we're going to be knocking things down one by one, I should probably give you this first. I was going to wait until we had finished reading the agenda, but with the way things are. . ." Reaching beneath a stack of files which she held well balanced in one hand, the secretary pulled out a large manilla envelope. "This came in the morning mail. It's addressed to you personally with 'confidential' emblazoned on both sides."

Pete extended a hand in the general direction of Helen's voice and waited for the object. As soon as his fingers felt the package arrive he quickly fell to work. Swiveling to the high powered magnifier that had been mounted on his desk, Thornton switched on the light. A quick examination of the envelope revealed that there was no return address and no legible postmark. Ignoring these unhelpful attributes, Pete continued to the next stage. With great care he opened one end of the package and withdrew its contents. The material proved to be a series of enlarged black and white photographs - each altered to provide peak contrast for easy visibility. A grin spread across Pete's face. "Why these are pictures of Mac . . . and Sam. Look at that hair! They must avoid barber shops like the plague." Despite the critical content of this observation, Pete's delivery was quite affectionate. "Those two, I declare . . ."

Helen frowned as her boss ceased mid-comment. A quick glance revealed that Thornton had grown very tense. His back was now tightly straight and his lighthearted manner replaced by grim determination.

"No, it can't be," he murmured.

"Sir? What's wrong?"

"Helen - get me the Comet Motel in Gerlach Nevada. It's a few miles outside of the Black Rock Desert - hurry!"

Knowing instinctively that this was no time to ask questions, Helen quickly exited to fulfill her mission. Left alone in his office, Pete considered the picture before him once more. All the other photos in the packet had seemed cheerful and innocuous, but this one . . . this one spelled trouble. It was a close up shot of MacGyver, his face beaming. Superimposed on this happy image, however, were cross hairs - sighting marks for a high-powered rifle. Pete's blood ran cold as he again looked at the target centered over his friend's forehead. Giving the desk a solid knock, he then slid over to his private telephone line. Picking up the receiver he began making some calls. Within a matter of minutes, Phoenix operatives in the Nevada area had been advised of the situation. Armed with photographs of Mac and Sam along with a physical description of their bikes, several teams began flooding the streets. Their instructions were to monitor all the main routes to L.A. and to intercept the potential victims if possible. Another team was then dispatched to check out the Comet. As these arrangements were being in-acted, Helen announced that she had the motel on line.

"Good, patch me through," Pete called. "Hello - is this the Comet Motel? . . . Yes this is Pete Thornton of the Phoenix Foundation, I'm trying to get in touch with a couple friends of mine - could you tell me if a Mr. MacGyver and a Mr. Malloy are registered there. . . That's great can you . . . Oh they already left . . . I see, how long ago was that? . . . About an hour ago? Did any other guests happen to check out at about the same time? . . . I know it's irregular, but a man's life may depend on this . . . I appreciate that, yes sir I'll wait . . ." Pete said the words, but found their application quite hard. "Wait . . ." he muttered covering up the mouth piece. "Wait."


	3. Chapter 3: Calling in Reinforcements

Chapter Three: Calling in Reinforcements

Two hours later, Pete Thornton sat waiting for a phone call. It was a very important call and one which he had never expected to make. Of all the people to need, this one had to be the most unlikely candidate.

"Mr. Thornton," Helen announced over the intercom. "I have Dalton Air for you on line two."

Shaking his head dolefully, Pete picked up the phone. "Dalton?"

"Speaking."

"Jack, this is Pete Thornton."

"Hey, hey Pete old buddy!" was the enthusiastic response. "How's life treating you my friend?"

"Well, that's actually why I called, Jack - something's come up. I . . . I need your help."

A dead silence followed and for a moment, Pete feared that he might have lost the connection. "Dalton? Dalton are you there?"

At last the still line came back to life. "Am I still here? Why Petey, of course I'm still here - I just fell through this new hole in my floor, that's all." The inflection on this comment could best be described as pleased excitement mixed with total surprise. "Are you sure it's me you want?"

Pete paused a moment to consider this question. Truthfully the answer would be 'no' he did not want Jack Dalton. In his personal opinion, Jack was an immature clown, turned lying grifter, who had long ago managed to corner the market on traveling disasters. Suppressing a groan, Pete tried to set these thoughts aside and focus on the matter at hand. Gritting his teeth determinedly, he at last gave an answer. "Yes, Dalton, I want you."

"I'm flattered - nay I'm honored!" Jack replied with an archaic flourish. "What can I do you for?"

"It's MacGyver, he's in trouble."

"Again? I swear that guy musta' been born with one foot on a land mine and the other on a roll of used up duct tape. Never could stay out of trouble. But have no fear - Jack Dalton is here! I'm a little rusty on daring rescue missions right now, but I'm sure it will all come rushing back. Just point me in the right direction. Where is the Mac man this time?"

"That's part of the problem. We don't know, and it's imperative that we find out."

The grim intonation of these sentences instantly sobered Jack. Obviously Mac was in no ordinary life-and-death jam.

Pete sensed this change as it came over Dalton. He could almost feel the receiver grow cold in his hand. When the pilot's voice returned to the line, all flippancy had vanished.

"What's happened?"

"A threat has been made against Mac's life. The message, if you can call it that, was sent directly to my office. Apparently he's got a stalker on his tail and doesn't even know it. I spoke with Sam earlier today and he told me they were up near Gerlach Nevada. I contacted their motel as soon as I was aware of the threat, but they'd already left."

"Do we know where they were headed?"

"Yes, Los Angeles."

A trace of happiness filtered through Jack's solemnity. "Here? Kemo-sabe is coming here?"

Thornton found himself slightly moved by the pilot's words. Despite all of his flaws, somewhere deep down, Jack really did care about MacGyver. Pete would have to try and remember that. "Yeah - they were coming out to spend Christmas. But getting back to the problem. . . I spoke with the motel clerk where they stayed, but he wasn't much help. About the only thing he could tell us was that there was one other customer who checked out at the same time as Mac. But aside from a false name and a description that is sketchy at best, he couldn't tell us much. He said it was a Caucasian male that was slightly built."

"Well, that's a big help - do you think this painfully average John Doe could be our suspect?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. The way things stand, that's about all we've got. Whether or not it's worth anything - only time will tell."

"What do you want me to do? Just name it."

"Well as of right now, I have several Phoenix teams canvassing all of the major highways between here and Gerlach. So far all of them have reported negative contact over the past few hours. Based on these results, we have to consider one of two possibilities. The first being that Mac and Sam have been avoiding the highways and are taking a more circuitous, but scenic route. Given MacGyver's propensity toward the unconventional, this option wouldn't necessarily be all that far-fetched. The second possible scenario is one I don't even want to consider - namely that the hit might have already taken place." Thornton took a deep breath and tried to get a firm handle on his emotions. Talking about these things in such a detached professional manner was beginning to wear him down. Summoning the hard-nose bureaucrat that lived deep within, however, Pete was at last able to resume his narrative. "Right now we're working to try and cover both of these theories, but inadequate manpower is getting to us. We've got people checking the hospitals, the morgues, and all the major highways. Our weakness is the back roads. It is going to be impossible for our ground teams to check all potential routes between here and the Black Rock Desert. That's where you come in."

"Air to ground search?"

"Exactly. Phoenix has three helicopters in the Nevada territory, all of which are currently in the air and involved in a grid search. So far they haven't found a thing and the way things are shaping up I don't think they will either. Now don't get me wrong, our pilots are good men, too good in fact. That's our problem. They're following strict policy and procedure on this one, and that's just not going to cut it. MacGyver is not your average missing person. To find him we're going to have to abandon the textbook and try a different approach. I need a man up there who can think like Mac, someone who understands how his mind works. Someone knowledgeable enough to sift through all of the incoming data and coordinate the search effort - MacGyver style. You're that man Jack."

"I'm all yours Pete, just tell me where to go."

"Excellent! I contacted a few friends in the Air Force and managed to get you a seat on one of their air crafts. There's an F-15 Eagle taking off from Los Angeles AFB at twelve hundred hours. It's a training class 'D' craft so there will be a seat for you directly behind the pilot. Their destination is Malmstrom Montana, but they've agreed to take you as far as the Mina air strip in Nevada. From there, you make contact with our local Phoenix operatives who will drive you to the command post. You'll be supplied with a Phoenix pack radio as soon as you arrive at L.A. AFB. It will be tuned to our private frequency. This will enable me to keep you abreast of any new intel received while you're in the air."

"Perfect. I'm on my way," Jack declared. He started to hang up the phone, but found himself struck by a vague sensation that Pete wasn't quite through. Patiently he remained on the line. When the other party's hesitation continued, Dalton decided a nudge was in order - after all, he had a flight to catch. "Anything else, big guy?"

A flash of irritation at being referred to as 'big guy' almost made Thornton rethink his unspoken sentence. Buffaloing this ire, though, Pete finally managed to utter these hard words: "Uh . . . just one thing. Thanks Jack."

The pilot's mustache peaked at its corners. "You got it, Pete. And, hey don't worry. I'll find our wandering boys - just you wait and see!"

XXXXXXX

As the noon hour approached, father and son found themselves in a small diner. They were seated in a somewhat cramped booth that was graced by a large picture window. The view was not particularly entrancing, but MacGyver found that it held his interest. In fact he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. Admittedly, this was due to what he could not see, as opposed to what he could. The missing element was their blue van companion. Despite Sam's best effort the vehicle had still managed to remain close by throughout the past three hours. Granted it had dropped out of sight a few times, but these occasions had been quite brief. Inevitably the Ford had resurfaced and within minutes or even seconds of its disappearance. Given their round-a-bout travel pattern, this constant reappearing act was becoming even more suspicious. Likewise, MacGyver's instincts were growing even more insistent. In fact, at this particular moment, said instincts were beginning their most vigorous attack yet. It had been over half an hour since Mac had last seen the E150 and the long absence bothered him.

_In my former profession, I managed to get into a lot of unusual situations. Some of them weren't all that pleasant - or legal. Thinking back, it surprises me how many times I've found myself severely bending the law in order to accomplish a mission. Breaking and entering is probably my biggest offense. I do try to limit the breaking part as much as possible, but as for the entering . . . well let's just say that I've gone into more places uninvited than most burglars I know. Of course this habit of mine does have its drawbacks . . . threat of prison for example. Now necessity being the mother that she is, has taught me a few inventive tips to avoid just such a pitfall. The most vital of which is to not get caught. Simple, right? The second most important, is to always know where your unfriendlies are. After all, if you lose track of someone, you may open yourself up for a very unpleasant surprise._

_As of right now, I have lost track of a potential unfriendly. I've lost this particular one before, but never for this long. I'm afraid this could mean that very unpleasant surprise is right around the corner._

With a self-absorbed frown, Mac sighed and turned away from the window. Lacking anything better to do, he scanned the room searching for their waitress. Her service, thus far had been adequate, but a little short on speed. Based on the time it had taken her deliver their drinks, lunch could be quite a while in coming. To Mac's annoyance he found that the waitress, like the van, had temporarily dematerialized.

_Great . . . no van. . . no waitress. Just plenty of nerves and hunger._

Mac rumbled along these mental lines as he picked up a loose straw wrapper. Exacting his irritation on the item, he began knotting and re-knotting the paper.

Sam watched his father's idle antics with curiosity. Though hardly objectionable, they did strike him as rather unusual. MacGyver was known for his easy-going manner and to see him at all agitated was indeed out of the ordinary. Unsure of whether he should pry, Sam maintained his silence. When the last knot was tied in the paper wrapper, however, he could no longer resist.

"Dad?" he ventured.

"Yeah?"

Sam noted the absent, faraway tone in his father's voice. Something was definitely on his mind. "Are you okay?"

"Sure, why?"

"I don't know. You seem kinda' preoccupied that's all."

Mac shrugged, giving a dismissive shake of the head.

"What is it, Dad? What's on your mind?"

"I've lost track of an unfriendly," he muttered mostly to himself.

"What?"

MacGyver raised his eyes to meet those of his son. "I'm sorry, Sam. I just . . ." the voice trailed off and the eyes fell again.

"Just what?" Sam pressed.

Mac's brow furrowed and he seemed to be searching for the right words. "I just have a bad feeling. Like something's gone wrong or that it's about to."

Sam considered this for a moment. He had great respect for his father's instincts - especially when it came to predicting bad situations. "What do you think it is?"

MacGyver met Sam's gaze once more. He read the look of concern etching itself along the young man's face and instantly regretted saying anything.

_I shouldn't have told him. It's practically a baseless suspicion anyway. Long on circumstantial evidence and short on proof. For all I know this ache in my gut, could just be that old Christmas time guilt coming back. Guilt and maybe a little fear . . . fear that it could happen again. Fear that I could lose someone else . . ._

Mac refused to let his mind finish the thought. Breaking eye contact with Sam, he gave another dismissive shake of the head. A shrug soon followed, as he attempted to alleviate his son's worries. "It's probably nothing. Nerves maybe. A little over anxious about seeing Pete, I guess." Giving his now tightly wadded straw wrapper a flick, Mac smiled and leaned back in the booth.

Sam relaxed his frown lines, but maintained a thoughtful expression.

His mind was mulling over their morning's ride. Almost automatically, he fell to considering the blue van. They had not discussed the vehicle's peculiar behavior, but Sam felt sure his father must have noticed.

_Lost track of an unfriendly, eh? Gotta' be that Ford E150. It's certainly got me on edge. Every time I see the blasted thing coming I wanna' run screaming into the night and never come back._

As Sam considered this possibility, their wandering waitress appeared bringing a tray full of food. After properly dispensing the various culinary items, she once again vanished from sight.

"Very strange girl," Mac observed as he began to investigate his veggie burger.

"You think she's odd, what about you? Talk about weird, that thing you're about to eat has one slice of tomato and three unidentifiable green substances which have been mashed beyond recognition. If that's not odd I don't know what is." Sam gave his Dad's meal another glance and then added "Eh-yuck!" to his commentary just for good measure. An appropriate look of disgust accented this opinion and was accompanied by a theatrical shudder.

Mac made a face eyeing his son's 'all-the-way' lunch. "Well its better than that monster of yours. Looks like you've got everything on there, but the kitchen sink."

"Yeah - isn't it great?" With a grin, Sam noted the expression crossing Mac's face. "I know. . ."

"Eh-yuck!" Father and son leaned in as they completed this sentiment together.

"Wanna' try a bite?" Mac questioned challengingly.

"You gonna' try mine?"

MacGyver deliberated a moment. "What the heck - I've lived a good life."

Sam laughed at the over-dramatized remark and held out his burger. Mac accepted, taking a generous bite. He chewed and swallowed the morsel with what Sam judged to be a minimal display of unhappiness.

"Well?"

Mac smiled blandly. "I have just assaulted my stomach, thank you very much. It hasn't seen that much un-food in ages."

In response to this, Sam dropped his jaw and raised an eyebrow. "Un-food indeed!" he intoned with a rich blue-blood accent.

Taking the cue, Mac jiggled his head aloofly and offered a superior look. "Quite 'un.'"

Another facial contortion indicating shock crossed Sam's visage as he swiftly repossessed his lunch. "Some people just have no appreciation for the finer things of life."

Mac made a face, indicating plainly what he thought of 'the finer things of life' before moving on to the next order of business. Brandishing a 'gotcha' look he pushed his plate towards Sam. "Now it's your turn."

"Aw, man . . ."

"Deal's a deal," Mac cautioned and inched his offering closer.

With a cringe, Sam reached down and picked up the veggie burger. Holding the item as if it were a vial of some communicable disease, he then braced himself for the bite ahead. Mac watched with amusement as his son sighed, closed his eyes and ferociously clamped his mouth around a portion of the burger. To his delight, Sam's tight grimace soon faded and was replaced by a look of surprise.

"You know, that's not half bad," he announced. "If only . . ."

"What?"

"If only it wasn't so - so _green_."

Screwing up one corner of his mouth, Mac developed an 'oh for goodness sake' expression and reclaimed his lunch. "Don't listen to him," he murmured addressing the burger.

"Dad, sometimes you worry me," Sam laughed.

"And you me - but hey, that's what families are for."

XXXXXXX

As the minutes slowly passed, Pete found himself growing more and more uneasy. In matters such as this, time was crucial. The only point currently in their favor, was that Mac's stalker apparently enjoyed playing games. This asset, however, could prove to be short lived. Based on the photograph, MacGyver would most assuredly be dead whenever the assassin chose.

Rubbing one hand over his balding head, Pete heaved a sigh. "If only Mac would call!"

It was a hasty knock, not a telephone ring, though, that interrupted his brooding.

"Come in."

"Pete, I just heard," Nikki announced. The tone of her voice betrayed deep concern. "What do we know so far?"

"Nikki, I'm glad you're here," Pete returned by way of hello. He then fell to explaining the situation. Several minutes later, he had wrapped up the dark story and sat waiting for her to respond.

"Is there any chance this could just be a hoax of some kind?"

"Well, there's always that possibility, but given Mac's track record of enemies, I wouldn't want to bet on it."

Nikki nodded her grim agreement and then pressed on to her next question. "So, working on the assumption that this is legit, are there any clues as to the identity of the stalker?"

"As far as evidence goes, we have nothing. The man's description provided by the motel clerk could fit just about anybody and we have no intel on a possible vehicle." Pete took a moment to catch his breath before continuing. "Personally though, I do have a theory."

Nikki waited with rapped attention. "Yes?"

Thornton acknowledged the slight impatience of his colleague, but remained solemn and reticent. Obviously the option he had come upon was not a pleasant one.

"Come on, Pete. Not talking about it, is not going to make this go away. If you've come up with a viable suspect, tell me."

Exhaling a deep, suppressed breath, Thornton nodded. "Okay, here it is - I think Murdoc is a prime candidate."

"Murdoc!" Carpenter rasped in disbelief and horror.

Noting her skepticism, Pete began reviewing his line of reasoning. "I know it's hard to believe, but just think about it for a moment. Who ever is behind this, knows of Mac's connection to both the Phoenix Foundation and to me personally. Since he's been retired for over nine months now, only someone from his past would even bother to make that connection. Also consider that as things stand right now, Mac poses no real threat to anyone . . . he's not been bucking any of the evil powers that be or meddling in some country's covert operations. He has helped Sam out with some pretty heavy expose work, but even then he's managed to maintain a very low profile. This leaves us with only one possible motive: revenge."

"Okay, so the motive's revenge, but MacGyver's list of enemies has got to be one of the longest on record. . . What makes you think this has to be Murdoc?"

"Well, this ridiculous cat and mouse game, for one. It is just the sort of perverted 'fun' that Murdoc would enjoy. Not to mention that toying with Mac seems to have become his favorite past time . . . and the pictures! The way they were enlarged and altered was uncanny - whoever sent them has a working knowledge of my eyesight. Most people see these glasses or the white cane and think I'm already completely blind - only someone who knew me personally could know that I can still see some images. Murdoc would have that knowledge. The rest of Mac's enemies have either been in prison too long to know about my condition or they haven't been free long enough to find out. But even putting that bit of deduction aside, you are still left with the fact that photographing victims is Murdoc's trademark - his signature if you will - and it's something that no one else has ever done."

Nikki's brow furrowed deeply. Her strong desire to reject any notion that had to do with Murdoc (the forever dying assassin) slowly collapsed as she evaluated the available facts. "You're right, Pete," was her eventual response. "If this isn't Murdoc, we've certainly found ourselves a good imitation."

Before Pete could formulate a reply, his intercom sprang to life.

"Mr. Thornton, Willis from the lab is here to see you."

"Send him right in," Pete instructed.

A moment later, the small scientist appeared. In his hand he held a clipboard swarming with pages of notations.

"Willis, you remember Nikki Carpenter?"

"Oh, yes. Mac ducked into my lab quite a few times because of you," he remarked with a smile. "Used to say he was just trying to keep his matches away from your gasoline."

Nikki blushed slightly. "I often wondered why I always seemed to lose him down in that labyrinth of laboratories. Now I guess I know. Of course you are aware that he only disappeared when I was winning an argument."

Willis' grin broadened, but he did not offer a rejoinder. Pete seized this lull in the banter to redirect the man's attention.

"So, what were you able to find out?"

Without missing a beat, Willis launched into a recital of his findings. "Probably the most pertinent item would be that these are no ordinary photographs. In point of fact, they're not even true photographs. Every one is a copy or more precisely a faxed printout of the original. We found date-time stamps in all the upper left hand corners which support this conclusion as well as copy identification digits printed on the opposite side."

"What information do have about the machines that sent and received these pictures? Do we have a number for either of them?" Pete questioned.

"Unfortunately, I can't give you any information on the machine which did the sending. As for the one that did the receiving, I can tell you everything from the type of ink it uses to the last time it's print heads were cleaned - but I can't tell you the number. Unlike some models, this particular one doesn't record that data on the faxed items."

"So where does this get us?"

Pete opened his mouth to answer Nikki's query, but was cut short by Helen's urgent cry.

"Mr. Thornton!"

With no further ado, the secretary then breezed through the office door. "Sir, these were just sent up from the sixth floor. One of their fax machines apparently received them during lunch hour." Helen held out a stack of five or more papers. "The top one is a picture of MacGyver. I . . . I didn't look at the rest - I hope its not bad news." Hearing herself speak these words, Helen was struck by their inadequacy. Nothing was going to change the images she held. Either Mac was still alive or he wasn't. For all the good it had done, she might as well have tried to bail out a sinking ship with a thimble.

Pete could almost feel his secretary's thought. Too many times he had been overcome by the same sensation - the sensation of helplessness. Right now was one of those times.

"Let's take a look, shall we?" Willis prompted, forcing much more optimism than he felt.

Thornton inhaled sharply. "Yeah, let's see what we've got." As before, the first few pictures were nice shots, nothing amiss. The last one, though, again had cross hairs imposed over MacGyver's face.

"Well, he's still alive. That's something, at least," Willis offered hopefully.

"Something? Mr. Thornton, that's everything!" Helen blurted out. As soon as the words escaped her lips, the secretary retreated a step. She then reddened slightly and began to chasten herself for being impertinent. Before this mental rebuke could be properly completed, Nikki spoke.

"She's right, Pete," Carpenter agreed. "As long as he's alive that means there's still a chance!"

Thornton's mouth began to tug upwards. "You know, that's just what Mac would have said."

"Oh, don't tell me that!" Nikki groaned, her mood suddenly a bit deflated.

Helen, however, took her boss's statement as a compliment and beamed with pride.

Willis gave both the secretary and Nikki a pat on the shoulder accompanied by a warm smile. "Congratulations you two- I now declare you the MacGyverettes of Phoenix."

Carpenter gave an unintelligible moan. "Willis, if you have any matches I suggest you go and hide them in your lab, right now." A sweet smile accompanied this warning along with a slow waggling fist. In response, the mild mannered scientist took one cautious step backwards.

"Well on that threat, I've got to get back to work," Helen declared before making a swift exit.

"_That_ is an excellent suggestion," Willis announced giving the now open door a longing glance. "Pete, here's the rest of my report for you to look over. There's not much there I'm afraid, but hey, who knows - maybe you'll pick up on something I missed. I'm going to head down and check out that fax machine on the sixth floor. I might be able to get inside the system and trace the number this batch came from. I'll let you know what I find out. Nice to have seen you again Ms. Carpenter." With that and a flurry of his white smock, the scientist then vanished.

"Right - thanks," Pete called after him. When he heard the office door slid shut, Thornton returned his attention to the new lot of photographs. "Say Nikki, will you take a look at these? Your eyesight is better than mine, perhaps you can catch something that might give us a clue as to MacGyver's location."

Obediently, Carpenter moved closer. After picking a photo that offered the largest portion of background to peruse, she began pouring over its every pixel.

As Pete waited, he fell to thinking over the current situation. "You know," he mused, "I never thought I'd be glad to see Mac's face covered by cross hairs - but given the alternative, I don't think I've ever been so glad to see anything in my whole life. Funny the things you can be grateful for." As Pete reflected further on the matter, a strong sense of hope began to build. He could just hear MacGyver now . . .

"You gotta' stay positive, Pete."

Thornton smiled broadly. _You bet Mac!_


	4. Chapter 4: Problems

Chapter Four: Problems

The clock on the diner wall was approaching one o'clock. It had been almost an hour since Mac and Sam had stopped for lunch, about forty minutes since they had gotten their drinks and about fifteen minutes since they had received their orders. The mile high and the veggie burgers were significantly smaller now, as were the appetites of their consumers.

Feeling his stomach approaching the edge of satisfaction, Sam allowed himself a brief respite. Leaning back against the booth, he sighed contentedly and allowed his mind to wander. After some time had passed, he then initiated a fresh line of conversation.

"So," Sam began curiously. "What was Christmas like for you growing up?"

Mac, who's focus was still monopolized by his meal, seemed a little startled by the question and abruptly lifted his head. Having thus cut himself off mid bite, he fumbled slightly as bits of loosened greenery began slipping out of their bun. Taking a moment to reconstruct the fallen pieces, Mac then turned his attention to Sam. He gave his son an unsure look and repeated the query for clarification. "What was Christmas like?"

"Yeah, you know, did you have any special traditions - something you and your folks always did?"

MacGyver set down his lunch and leaned back. "There's not a whole lot to tell really. Ours was just an average American Christmas. You know, real Norman Rockwell material - simple, old fashioned. We always cut our own tree, baked our own food and had a fresh allotment of snow every year."

Sam reached for his drink and began considering how best to illicit a more "fleshed out" narrative. His father was not given to talking much about himself, so conversations like this were always a bit tricky. As various tactical options started to present themselves, however, he suddenly noticed a peculiar look canvassing Mac's face. Perhaps his father wasn't done after all.

MacGyver tilted his head to one side, visually searching through the middle distance. At last the elusive memory surfaced. "Of course there was that time I nailed railway spikes in the living room floor - that was pretty unique." MacGyver announced this in all seriousness, but it caught his son quite unawares.

"Come again?" Sam croaked after nearly choking on his draught of cola.

Mac smiled at his son's disbelieving stare. "Well you see, one year we had this tree. The thing was beautiful, but it leaned terribly - no matter what Dad and Grandpa Harry tried. I don't remember exactly how it came about, but somehow I ended up alone with that drooping tree and my all-to-active mind."

Sam was grinning now with anticipation. "Yeah . . ."

Mac winced. "I wound some twine around the trunk and anchored it to three railway spikes which I pounded into the floor."

"You didn't!"

MacGyver offered a semi-remorseful shrug. "Well, it worked."

"What did your parents say?"

"Nothing, at first. They just stood there gaping. Then they got a little mad."

"Just a little?"

Mac's mouth tugged at one corner. "Well, maybe more than a little," he admitted. "Thank goodness for Harry, though. When he saw what I'd done, he burst out laughing. Mom and Dad just couldn't seem to stay mad with him cackling that way. He was my salvation." Mac threw his eyes upward, offering a silent 'thank you' to Grandpa. "Good ol' Harry."

"What else Dad?" Sam asked, eager to hear more.

Mac shook his head. "I'm afraid that's about it, son, except I never really believed in Santa Claus. That was something my oh-so-logical mind just wouldn't accept. The utter violation of simple physics was just too much."

Sam chuckled at these last remarks. _Yet another item we have in common. I never bought into the whole Santa idea either. _"What about you and Mom - did the two of you ever have a Christmas together?"

"No." Mac's answer seemed full of regret. "We almost made it once, but things just didn't work out."

"What happened?"

Mac gave the remaining piece of veggie burger all of his attention. "Well, you have to understand how things were. . . " he began. "When I got shipped home from Vietnam, I headed back to finish college. Mom had died the year before so I was looking for a way to forget. I figured a monster class list might do the trick. My first day on campus, though I met Kate. She became my lifeline. Having her there made life bearable. Pretty soon I was buried in homework and head over heels in love. But when December rolled around, that old empty feeling still came roaring back. I found myself feeling almost sick. So over Christmas vacation I went out for a solo two week hike in the woods. Your Mom said I was running away from my problem. . . she was right. So the next year I tried to face things - tried to make myself stay. But when the time came I just couldn't take it - I ran again. But the year of our graduation, I really made up my mind. I decided that it was time to stop running - time to forget about losing Mom and . . ." Mac stopped himself short. Swallowing hard he pressed on. "Well, anyway, I started making plans - for the holidays you know. I told your Mom we were finally going to have a Christmas together. I was gonna' take her home with me to Minnesota."

Sam held onto this last sentence. He sensed that there was something there - something important his father was leaving out. "You were going to ask her to marry you, huh?"

MacGyver's eyes left the veggie burger and a show of surprise flashed across his face. "How did you know?"

Sam cocked one eyebrow and shrugged. "The way you said 'making plans' - and the part about 'taking her home.' I dunno' - it sounded sorta' permanent."

MacGyver returned his optical focus to the remaining portion of burger again. Fondling the bite agitatedly he found himself getting lost in his own lonely thoughts . . . What had he done to drive her away? Why had he not gone after her? Why . . . Knowing that he was unable to alter the past and incapable of understanding it, Mac found himself overcome by frustration.

"So you said things didn't work out, what happened?"

Mac looked up briefly. The expression on his face was one of pain tainted with helplessness. "She left for that assignment down in Brazil and . . . and she never came back."

Sam lowered his eyes and allowed them to settle on his father's hands. As he watched, the long slender fingers seemed to become an outlet for Mac's frustration. Deftly they dismantled the untidy remains of his green burger and then reassembled them into one neat, final bite. If only life could be fixed that easily. . .

_You know, guilt is a very powerful emotion. It is also a very cruel one. I got my first real dose of guilt the night my Mom died. I was only nine at the time, but somehow I felt like I should have been able to protect her. Instead I just stood there and watched Chung pull the trigger. In my head, I know that there was nothing I could have done . . . no way I could have stopped that bullet; but guilt never yields to logic - no matter how good your argument._

_Based on what little he's told me in the past, Dad harbors more than his fair share of guilt, too. He blames himself for a lot of things. None of them were his fault, but like me, he just can't accept that - and probably never will._

_Right now, he's fallen victim to the guilt ridden refrain of 'what if . . .'? 'What if I hadn't let Kate go?' or 'What if I had followed her to Brazil?' Of course the true question behind this broken record is 'Why couldn't I have been there for my son?'_

_I know nothing I can say will ever stop this refrain. It, along with his other ghosts, will continue to haunt him the same way Mom's death haunts me. There is something I can tell him, though, that might make it just a little bit easier to live with. . ._

XXXXXXX

F-15 Eagles travel at Mach 2 or approximately 1,875 miles per hour. This being the case, Jack's flight took all of around 18 minutes. Once the landing had been executed, he emerged from the transport feeling somewhat like a well mixed malted milk. Even before he could regain his equilibrium, however, a Phoenix agent arrived and ushered him into an awaiting Jeep.

Five minutes later, Jack found himself at the makeshift Phoenix command post. Upon entering, he discovered the atmosphere within the tent to be a bit on the frigid side. In point of fact he felt about as welcome as a head cold. This sensation was increased two fold when a tall rigid man approached. His manner displayed both skepticism and profound displeasure.

"Dalton?"

"You got it - and you must be Agent Phelps."

A curt nod affirmed this assumption, but the man seemed disinclined to further their conversation.

Taken aback by the ensuing silence, Jack weighed his options. Deciding upon the 'smile broadly and keep moving' approach, he forged ahead. "Well, no sense getting bogged down in the amenities I always say. Will you show me what areas you have covered so far?"

"Right this way." Agent Phelps led the newcomer to a large table littered with charts. Propped nearby on an easel was an oversized map. This map was divided into various sectors, each named by a letter of the alphabet accompanied by a number. "Before we go any farther, I think there is something you should know," Phelps declared.

Jack waited expectantly giving the stern agent his undivided attention.

"My men and I have a ninety-seven percent success rate in operations such as these."

Jack sensed the note of challenge in this statement. Obviously Agent Phelps was none to happy about being replaced. "Really? That's quite impressive," Dalton managed to reply.

Phelps adjusted the smirk which decorated his face, but said nothing. At last he turned his attention to the map. "Based on the missing subject's travel patterns, we are concentrating our search here along H sectors four through six."

"So you figure he's traveling due south?"

"Well, here is Gerlach - the subjects' starting point. Here is Los Angeles - their supposed destination. What direction does that indicate to you?"

Again, Jack found himself at a loss to know how to continue. Hearing his friends referred to as 'the subjects' galled him beyond belief. Also having his basic navigational skills called into question by someone he had known for all of two minutes was most irritating. Biting down a stinging remark regarding the agent's obvious lack of manners, Jack took a long breath. "Oh, we're going to have a lot of fun, you and I," he chortled sarcastically. "But before we go any farther I think there is something you should know."

Phelps inclined his head, caught by the familiar phrase. "Yes, and what is that?"

"Those 'subjects' you so glibly mentioned are friends of mine - very good friends. They have names and everything. They're MacGyver and Sam. Ultimate good guys, both of them. . . and I'll thank you not to refer to them as 'the subjects' again."

Agent Phelps swallowed hard flexing his jaw muscles. A twinge of regret slowly appeared marring his iron-like expression.

When Dalton spied this admission he relaxed a bit. Giving his coworker a cuff on the arm, he mustered an accepting smile. "Well, now that we've got that out of the way, let's take another gander at this map of yours."

XXXXXXX

Sam leaned his arms on the table. Lowering his head, he managed to snag MacGyver's downcast eyes.

"One time," Sam began softly, "when I was seven, Mom asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I told her that all I wanted was to meet my Dad. Mom smiled and said there was nothing she'd like to give me more, but it just wasn't the right time. That's when she told me how you traveled around the world helping people. She said the day you found out about us, all of that would end."

Mac found himself stung by the accuracy of Kate's words. Her prediction had been all too true. Tightening his lips into a firm line, Mac prepared himself to hear the rest.

Sam noted the slight change in his father's expression, but did not comment. Instead he resumed his narrative. "She said you would give up your work and spend your days just keeping us safe and happy. That sounded pretty good to me at the time, until Mom showed me how selfish it was."

"It's not selfish to want to have a father," Mac interjected bitterly.

"It is when he could be out saving the lives of who knows how many people instead. That's what made Mom give you up in the first place. She saw how special you were and how important your work would be. Mom said once that leaving you was the hardest decision she ever made. She also said that given the chance, she would make the same choice over again - because she believed it was right. A necessary evil, she called it."

Mac did not verbally respond, but the fallen eyes and knitted brow spoke volumes. Sam considered his lack of progress for a moment and then continued.

"Mom wanted you to be a part of my life, but it just couldn't be . . . not then anyway."

MacGyver pushed his plate away abandoning the reassembled bite of veggie burger. His gaze did not rise, but lingered where the plate had been. Sam leaned forward, attempting once more to capture his father's wandering eye. Reluctantly Mac yielded, inhaling a quick sharp breath as he did so.

Having thus regained his audience's attention, Sam began once more. "You know that Christmas I asked to meet you? Well that year Mom took me to Minnesota."

A flicker of intrigue passed over MacGyver's face. "Kate took you to Minnesota?"

"Yes. She said my Dad would have wanted us to go there." This sentence was spoken in a gentle almost consoling tone. Sam allowed his father a moment to consider these words, before adding, "She wanted me to learn about those woods, that way of life, everything so that I could have a small insight into what kind of man you were. The kind of man I should be. It was her way of giving me a part of you. "

Mac was at a loss to know what to say. Slowly, the heaviness that had so overwhelmed him, began to dissipate. Granted, the guilt and regret still remained, but somehow they were no longer all-powerful. At last he spoke. "Kinda' makes some of the time and distance disappear . . . just a little."

Upon hearing these words, Sam knew he had finally reached his father. A relief filled smile soon lit his face.

Mac returned this simple gesture and gave an embarrassed laugh. "So how was Minnesota?"

"Best Christmas I ever had - and it was all because of you."

Mac's mouth strained at the corners. _Because of me - the man who wasn't there . . . imagine that._

_You know, the one thing in my life that I have never truly been able to understand is women. My brain just doesn't seem to flow on their wavelength. But when I met Kate, I thought for sure I'd found one who talked my kinda' language. She had more spunk than any other gal I knew. The two of us made quite a pair. We both saw life the same way - like one big adventure just chock full of opportunities. Together we were going to save the world - or so I thought. After she left, I added her name to my 'women I still don't understand' list. I figured I had gotten my signals crossed - that maybe she wasn't the soul mate I first thought her to be. Now, as it turns out, my first instincts weren't so far wrong after all. I mean, from what Sam's told me she certainly never lost her chutzpah and as for her feelings toward me. . . I guess I was right about them, too._

_When I first found out about Sam, I was hurt and angry. I felt as though Kate had stolen something very precious from me. Because of her decision, I was robbed of the chance to take part in my son's childhood. Later, I transferred most of that anger onto myself. A bad case of the 'if only's' struck and I found myself wondering what I should have done differently. Now, as I sit here, I know that nothing can ever really change what happened, but I think now it will be just a little bit easier to live with. In her own way, Kate enabled me to add a small piece to Sam's life - before I even knew he existed. It may not be much, but at least it's better than nothing._

XXXXXXX

Outside the cafe Murdoc's slender form stood with camera in hand. Positioning himself behind a low jutting adobe wall, the assassin took aim. His high powered lens soon brought the two subjects seated at the window into view. Utilizing the 'zoom' control he then took several close-up shots of his favorite enemy. As each still was captured, Murdoc adjusted the power for an even closer range. Pausing in his work, the assassin abruptly set down his camera. A gleeful, yet maniacal laugh then coursed through his person as he reached beneath his coat. Before this action could be completed, though, his quarry rose from the booth. Muttering an unintelligible curse, Murdoc watched him disappear from view. This development brought a flare of irritation and another soft volley of cursing. "Oh, MacGyver, you have such an insatiable knack for ruining my plans!" he mumbled. An evil grin then spread across his features. "I guess I'll have to save my next round for later."

XXXXXXX

The private telephone on Thornton's desk rang loudly. Groping for the receiver, Pete's hand at last fell upon the desired target. "Thornton here." A wisp of disappoint floated across the Director's face. For a moment, he had entertained the hope of hearing MacGyver's voice on the other end. Instead the one speaking was Willis. "Hello Willis, what did you find out? . . . What? . . . It can't be traced at all? . . . But that doesn't make any sense . . . All that equipment and we can't even trace a simple fax number! . . . No Willis, I'm sorry, it's not your fault. . . Yes, I understand, thanks." Thornton hung up the phone with a resonating clang. Unfortunately this bit of senseless violence did nothing to counteract the dismal report he had just received.

"What was all that about," Nikki asked peering up from her work.

"Another set back. According to our machine, these pictures were faxed from a mobile device. Never mind that for all intents and purposes such a thing is virtually impossible!" Pete gave a wide gesture to emphasize just how large an impossibility this was, before resuming. "Given the current evolution of mobile electronics, there is no device capable of performing such a task."

Nikki offered a sympathetic look. "You know there is something else I don't understand about this whole situation."

"Join the club," Pete said morosely.

Ignoring this observation, Carpenter continued. "That first envelope - the one that came in over the weekend . . . Willis said its pictures were print outs from a fax machine."

"That's right."

"But why fax the pictures and then turn around and mail them? It just doesn't add up." Having thus voiced her point of consternation, Nikki returned to examining the photographs.

Uttering a moan, Thornton grabbed his cane and began to pace. "_None_ of this makes any sense! If only we had some solid lead - anything." For a long while, only silence answered this plea. As Pete was completing his seventh pacing lap, Nikki finally sang out in triumph.

"Pete - I've got something!"

"Well, tell me, quick," Pete cried, moving closer.

"Right, here." Carpenter pointed to a portion of Mac's sunglasses that had been captured in one of the photographs. "It's faint, but there is part of a road sign reflected on this lens."

"Excellent!" Pete enthused. "What does it say?"

"It's a directional sign indicating a place called Cold Springs Station. There's no mileage listed, just an arrow pointing up the road."

"Put Cold Springs Station in on the computer and let's see what comes up," Thornton instructed.

Nikki hastily typed in the name and waited for the results. "It's apparently a former pony express stop that has been converted into a restaurant and gas station. Based on the location, MacGyver must be about sixty miles off course."

"Check for major highways in the area, they might be getting ready to reroute themselves."

"Um, looks like the closest highway is US 50."

"Great. Get the Nevada office on the line, we'll have them direct their operatives toward that area."

"Right, Pete," Nikki answered already dialing the phone.

"I'm going to try and raise Dalton on the radio. He should be at the command post by now." With that, Pete bustled from the room. A moment later, however his head bobbed back through the doorway. "Oh Nikki, I almost forgot - great work."

"Thanks boss."

Pete flashed a smile before again disappearing from sight.


	5. Chapter 5: Working Together

Chapter Five: Working Together

_Any good driver will tell you that safety checks are important. They can save you from a lot of heart ache and trouble. This said, there aren't too many people who actually practice this simple ounce of prevention. Blame it on a false sense of security, but most people just don't think 'it' will ever happen to them. In my former line of work, though, 'its' had a nasty habit of always popping up - just when I didn't want them to. In my book of 'Darned Inconvenient Things' unexpected 'its' top the chart. Of course, I've never been one to just sit by and let life happen. I like to be proactive. So to prevent some of these unhappy 'it' inconveniences I started doing regular safety checks on just about everything . . . from my Jeep to my toaster._

_Now, when I first met Sam, I found that we were kinda' alike - no, make that a lot alike. Anyway, one of the first things I noticed, was that he had my knack for getting into trouble. So, by simple math I figure that twice as many trouble-magnets will equal twice as many 'its'. My solution: twice as many safety checks._

Per his father's instructions, Sam knelt beside his Honda. Going down a mental checklist, he reviewed each item carefully. Nearby, MacGyver stood absorbed in an identical inspection of his Yamaha. Almost in tandem, they muttered through various names and ticked off the 'okayed' parts with their fingers.

Giving his knees a slap, Sam pushed himself to an upright position. "My baby's good to go, how 'bout yours?"

"Yep, she's perfect," Mac declared. Swinging one leg over the saddle, he waited for his son to follow suite. Helmets were then retrieved and dually fastened. Thus prepared, MacGyver reached for his sunglasses. Pausing mid-reach, however he suddenly became alert.

Sam noticed this change and attempted to determine the cause. Tracing his father's optical trail, his eyes soon landed on the side-mirror. Peering forward to achieve the right angle, Sam immediately spotted the reflected item of interest. "The unfriendly shadow strikes again," he chanted in his best ominous newscaster voice.

Though hardly surprised, Mac still shot his son a quick look. "You've noticed him, too?"

"Ohhh yes. What do you suppose he's up to?"

"I wish I knew. He certainly seems to find us fascinating though doesn't he."

"Yeah, but for the life of me I can't figure out why." Sam fell to pondering the situation and quickly thought of a possible solution. "Maybe it's one of your old acquaintances - you know the ones you never wanna' talk about."

"You mean the ones that don't like me too much?"

Sam nodded. "According to Mr. Thornton, you collect enemies as easily as you do friends."

Mac scowled almost imperceptibly. "Pete talks too much."

"Sometimes you don't talk enough."

Upon hearing this pointed reply, a mixed expression crossed over MacGyver's face. Taking on a thoughtful look, he then tried to refocus the discussion. "If we're going to consider enemies, young man there are already more than a few skeleton's in your closet, too you know. That camera of yours has helped convict gun runners, corrupt politicians, drug dealers . . ."

Sam waved his hand in a show of surrender. "Okay, I get your point. I guess, who he's after and what he's up to really isn't important. What is important is how are we going to get rid of him?

After a long moment's consideration, Mac set his arms akimbo and sighed. "To bad there isn't a law against sitting in a parked vehicle - we could have him arrested."

"That is too bad," Sam said with a humph. "He gives me the creeps."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

_Now, as I mentioned before, a good rule of thumb is to always keep potential unfriendlies in view. If you don't, you may wind up getting blind sided. Of course, one thing I've noticed about rules, is that they usually come with at least one exception - you know, like 'i before e except after c'. Well, my little rule of thumb is no different. Simply put, it goes something like this . . . You should never lose sight of your opponent, unless your opponent also loses sight of you._

MacGyver cocked his head in a contemplative manner. Turning toward his son, he then asked, "How far would you be willing to go to get that guy out of our hair?"

A broad, eager grin spread across the young man's face. "How far would you be willing to take me?"

XXXXXXX

From his vantage point across the street, Murdoc watched as his favorite foil and the boy wonder removed their helmets. The two subjects then produced a map and, getting close, they began to study the paper extensively. Though it was hardly unusual to see travelers consulting a map, the assassin's instincts warned him that something was out of place. After a moment's consideration, he diagnosed the problem. During the twelve years he had followed this particular quarry, Murdoc had never once seem him use a map. The man had an uncanny sense of direction and was an expert navigator - why would he need a map?

"What are we up to now, MacGyver?" he questioned, delighted at the possibility of a challenge. A few minutes were then taken to hypothesize various solutions. At last he hit upon what seemed to be the most probable explanation. "Why MacGyver, you sly dog. You wouldn't be planning a merry romp for your old nemesis now would you?" A snide laugh then filled the Ford's cab as he mulled over this new wrinkle. "You never did appreciate my work, did you MacGyver. Imagine, with all the time I have invested in this little venture and you want to run away. Ungrateful wretch. But then I guess no good deed ever goes unpunished." This insane monologue soon ceased, though and the assassin became deathly serious. "Make your bid for freedom good, MacGyver - because this is one game I don't intend to lose!"

XXXXXXX

Jack Dalton had been staring at the same map ever since his arrival. Agent Phelps stood close by, wondering just what this inexperienced replacement might suggest. At last the pilot spoke.

"I know this may seem a little unorthodox, but I'd like us to shift the search grid. With all do respect, I think we've been looking in the wrong neck of the woods."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, my friend Mac really goes for Mother Nature - always has - and his current fascination seems to be with all things desert. This being the case I think he may have wandered over this-a-way, towards the true desert land."

Agent Phelps mulled over this theory. At length he nodded. "If you're correct then we should concentrate our efforts in the K sectors."

"My sentiments exactly. Of course these roads are a great deal more round about. They can't be making very good time. K units 3-5 at the most - what do you think?"

Agent Phelps appreciated Jack's solicitation and allowed a brief, even smile to crease his features. "My sentiments exactly."

"Good - then lets get these units on the move. Go east young pilots, go east!" Jack called. Raising one hand as though summoning a cavalry charge, he then crossed to the radio. "What are your air monickers around here?"

"Alpha is our prefix and we have unit numbers 5, 7 and 12. Here are their current sector assignments."

Jack received the clipboard and scanned down the list. "Okay, have Alpha- 5 move to K-3, Alpha-12 K-4, and Alpha-7 K-5."

As Agent Phelps began initializing contact with the air units, Jack's private pack radio crackled to life.

"L.A. base to Mina Command Post - come in."

Retrieving the mic from it's cradle, Jack answered swiftly. "Mina Command to L.A. Base - go ahead Pete."

"Dalton, we've got a lead on MacGyver's location. Have one of your units check in the area of a place called Cold Springs Station. It's about sixty miles due east of Fallon Nevada."

Crossing over to the enlarged map, Jack traced his finger from Fallon along the Austin Highway. After traveling a guess-timate of sixty miles, the finger stopped. A large grin tweaked the pilot's face. "Way ahead of you Pete - we've got Alpha 12 headed there now."

"Roger Mina Command. Great work. Keep us posted."

"Roger L.A. Base - will do. Over and out."

Agent Phelps, having completed the new assignment dispatches, now peered forward. He had long ago developed a "double ear" so to speak and was capable of both hearing and comprehending more than one strand of radio traffic at a time. This being the case, he had managed to successfully dispatch his air units while also attending to to the details of Jack's conversation. He was now curious to see just where Jack's index finger had ended up. A reserved smile slowly appeared as the digit's location proved to be right in the center of K sector 4. "Way to call it, Dalton."

Jack gave an uncharacteristic shrug of modesty. "Hey - this is a group effort, remember. I help you, you help me. That's the way this works."

For some inexplicable reason, the rigid Phoenix agent suddenly found himself with one hand extended. "Call me Mike."

Dalton grinned, accepting the handshake. "Jack."

"Okay, Jack - what next?"

"Well first off tell me what you know about this area. I'm not up on my Nevada back woods - or should I say back deserts?"

"Back deserts is definitely more accurate. This whole area is nothing but miles and miles of . . . well nothing. You get a few hills right through here and along about this portion there are some rock formations."

"What about civilization - is there any?"

"Not much. The Cold Springs Station L.A. Base mentioned, is an old pony express stop. It's out in the middle of nowhere really. Because of the historical value, though it has managed to thrive pretty well on the tourist traffic. This of course is kind of an off season."

"What about roads - aside from the Austin Highway is there anything traversable?"

"Yes. Not a mile down from the station, right about here, there is a turn off. At first it stays fairly straight, but after awhile you run into a veritable knot of meandering roads. All of them eventually lead you back to the highway, though."

"Good. Now if only my friends will stand still for half a minute maybe we can catch up with them."

XXXXXXX

To put it mildly, standing still was not what MacGyver and Sam had in mind. Instead their plan called for quick moves and high speeds. The only question was - where should the track be? After discussing several possibilities the two at last decided upon a most circuitous route. Its main attraction being that it possessed a great number of turns accompanied by several small hills. Both of these elements would lend themselves easily to losing unwanted followers.

"Okay, I think that looks pretty good," Mac remarked.

"Yeah, we shouldn't have, too many problems. There are only two weak areas along the whole route." As he spoke, Sam indicated the stretches of road where both curves and hills were conspicuously absent. "These may give him a bit of an opening - what do you think?"

"I think you're right . . . We should take out some insurance."

Sam looked up, "Huh?"

Quirking one corner of his mouth, MacGyver smiled. "What's say we come up with a few surprises for our friend?"

Sam's eyebrows popped with interest. "Sounds like fun. Where do we start?"

Mac straightened himself and looped his thumbs into his jeans. With a thoughtful gaze he began to scan their surroundings. "Well . . . let's see what we've got."

Sam crossed to his father's side and unconsciously struck an identical pose. Together they assessed what lay at their disposal - which wasn't much.

_You know, Dad amazes me. In matters like this, he has a wonderful knack for never seeing the glass as half empty - to him it's always half full. I guess a bit of that eternal optimism was passed on to me, too - though until recently, I never really noticed how much. Consider our current situation, for example. To say that Cold Springs Station is a dot on the map would be an understatement. In fact, to call it a dot at all would be wistful thinking. The place has all of three structures. There's the cafe (which incidentally is also a gas station), a large shed that has seen better days and a dilapidated mobile home. Now, if you were to add all of these resources together, at best the total benefit would be about a minus two. Naturally speaking this should be disheartening, but I guess common arithmetic just can't stand up against our optimistic gene. Instead of being sad, both of us are standing here grinning, like the incurable improvisers we are, and thinking what a fun challenge this will be. So much for limited resources!_

"I say the shed. What do you think?"

Sam gave the area another quick once over before replying. "Looks like the best option to me."

Upon investigating the situation, it was soon determined that the shed and all its contents belonged to the cafe owner, Mr. Arno. Being a very amiable sort, Mr. Arno assured them that they were welcome to, as MacGyver put it, "browse and borrow" whatever they fancied. Having therefore obtained the proper permission, father and son ambled over to do a little exploring. The resource of their choice soon proved to be full of limitless possibilities. It was not just a shed - it was a veritable treasure trove of hardware, farm supplies and miscellaneous junk.

"Pay dirt."

"You said it partner," Mac drawled in his best cowboy manner.

Mimicking his father's tone, Sam gave his belt buckle a tug. "Yep, we've done hit the mother load."

Mac reached over and gave Sam's hair a tussle. "C'mon, let's see what we've got."

Father and son then separated and began to browse. They didn't need much, just a few odds and ends to keep their stalker off balance. After spending several minutes reorganizing the array of oddities, Sam announced a discovery.

"Hey Dad - check this out."

Half climbing and half wading through the various mountains of junk, Mac finally reached his son's side. "Whatcha' got?"

"Calcium hydroxide - slaked lime," he answered scooping up a handful. Letting the gray powdery substance fall slowly back into the open sack, Sam gave his father a smile. "Like it?"

"Oh yeah," Mac murmured with enthusiasm.

"Of course it would be better if we could find something else to put it in - this bag is a bit under the weather." As he spoke Sam fingered the tattered item sympathetically.

Mac agreed with this statement and became thoughtful. After brief reflection, he soon snapped his fingers. "I've got just the thing. Over here." Maneuvering his way back across the shed, MacGyver quickly disappeared behind some crates. Several grunts and groans later, amid a flurry of coughs and dust, he then reappeared. "Ah ha! Gotcha' ya'." Triumphantly Mac held up two paper sacks. "What do you think?"

"Perfect," Sam declared as his father passed him the items. "Combine all of this with some duct tape and I think we'll have something."

Reaching into his back pocket Mac produced a roll (or more accurately a flat) of the desired fixative. "Need to borrow mine?"

"Nope. The first lesson I ever learned from you was 'Never leave home without duct tape'." Brandishing a smile Sam retrieved a roll of silver from his jacket pocket.

"Good man."

"Hey, I can fix these up - why don't you keep looking."

"You got it."

As MacGyver resumed browsing, Sam set about his work. Opening the paper sacks, he stood them side by side. Drawing his Swiss Army knife, he then cut eight inch slits down each corner. "Hey Dad?"

"Ya?"

"I think a little reinforcement might help these guys hold up. You seen any newspapers around?"

In answer to this inquiry, a large stack of bound up newspapers landed in a cloud of dust by Sam's side. "Alright! Thanks Dad."

"Anytime." Mac's voice floated mysteriously through the shed, seeming to come from all sides at once.

Intrigued by the strange acoustics, Sam turned around. To his amusement, he found that only half of his father was visible - the missing upper half being buried deep within a barrel. Met with this picture, Sam could not contain his laughter. "My kingdom for a camera!"

"I heard that!" MacGyver called. "Snickering at your old man. Tsk, tsk, tsk," he chided.

"Sorry," Sam yelled back, though the word seemed to lack any true remorse. Stifling his amusement, however, the young man returned his attention to the work at hand. Taking the newspapers, he used them as a layered lining for each sack. The powdered lime was then poured evenly into both bags - stopping just shy of the eight inch slits. To complete his project, Sam folded down the sacks' side panels and used a single strip of duct tape to hold them in place. Upon examining the finished results, he gave a satisfied nod. "I'm done up here Dad - how're you coming?"

A brief rumble of various straining noises answered this question echoing oddly throughout the shed; but at last a call of victory was heard. "Alright!"

"Sounds like you found something," Sam ventured.

"Oh yeah. Come give me a hand will ya'?"

Sam made his way toward a large shroud of dust which he knew instinctively must conceal his father. Waving away the fog, he was soon able to identify Mac's form. "What'd you find?"

"Nails," Mac announced holding up a box. "And an industrial strength magnet."

"A magnet?"

Mac shrugged offering a lopsided smile. "My Mom used to say that 'cleanliness was next to godliness'. I figure this magnet oughta' come in handy for the cleanliness part. You know, kinda' keep things neat."

Sam started to grin. "Cool."

"Thought you might like it . . . The magnet's just under these crates."

Once Mac's treasure had been unearthed, the two of them trekked back to the front of the shed. After making a few special arrangements with the nails and securing Sam's bags of lime, the pair then emerged as casually as possible from the storage building. Of course given the burdens they were carrying, this air of nonchalance was a bit out of place. As they walked, both of them found themselves overcome by an uncomfortable sensation; namely that the van's faceless driver was visually tearing them apart. As a result, the journey from their new found resource facility to the awaiting bikes, seemed interminable.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think this guy is really following us? Or are we just being paranoid? I mean - he could have business out here."

Mac stopped and gave the surrounding countryside a thoughtful look.

"You're right - _no_ one has any business out here. It was a dumb idea," Sam agreed.

"Hey, anything's possible," MacGyver amended quickly. "In this case, the odds are against it, but that doesn't make it dumb. I mean the guy could have a legitimate reason for coming this way."

"Yeah - he's following us."

Mac tilted his head in a 'well since you put it that way' manner and resumed walking. "Still I think we need to be absolutely sure before we take our friend on this little excursion of ours."

"How?"

"Well, so far he hasn't had to work very hard to keep pace with us. Let's force his hand."

"You mean, lead him on a ways, like usual and then take off," Sam extemporized.

"Right. Make him put up or shut up, so to speak. If he tries to stay with us then we'll have our answer."

"And if he doesn't?"

"If he doesn't, then we can tell everybody that we like to scavenge around in old sheds just for the heck of it." Mac looked toward his son, eyes twinkling, and offered a broad grin.

Sam couldn't help, but smile. "Sounds good to me."


	6. Chapter 6: The Chase

Chapter Six: The Chase

"Okay, here we go," Mac announced as his motorcycle roared to life. "Stay close. If anything starts to go wrong just give me the signal and we'll stop."

Sam nodded with understanding and fired up his engine. "I'm ready."

As MacGyver watched his son, a brief, uncertain feeling swept over him. He thought back over the route they had chosen. It was difficult and challenging by design, but nothing Sam couldn't handle. Mac knew that. He had spent the past nine months practically living on the back of a bike just watching his son ride. Not to mention the numerous BMX tracks they'd visited together. On these occasions, Sam's off road skills had proven to be phenomenal. Granted his current mount was a far cry from any BMX bike, but the driver's talent and natural balance hadn't gone anywhere. Why was he suddenly so worried?

Before these concerns could be satisfactorily resolved, however Sam turned off his engine. Waving one hand at his throat, he indicated that Mac should also cut his motor. As soon as the Yamaha stopped her rumbling, Sam began.

"You've got that preoccupied look again, Dad. What's wrong?" As Sam spoke, he surveyed Mac's worry-lined face. Without waiting for a response he soon continued. "That feeling of yours is back, isn't it?"

Mac shook his head. "Something's not right. I don't know what it is and honestly, right now I don't care. What I do care about is you." MacGyver took a steadying breath and set his jaw with determination. "I want you to be extra careful young man. Understand?"

Sam noticed the harsh shift in his father's voice. Obviously Mac's warning instincts were on high alert. Nothing short of deep, heartfelt concern could have made him speak in such tones. Faced with this realization, Sam felt a stab of fear himself. Locking eyes with his father, he at last responded. "You be careful, too, okay?

XXXXXXX

"Mike, check Alpha-12's status, will ya'?"

"I'm on it," was the crisp reply. "Command to Alpha-12 come in over."

"This is Alpha-12 go ahead Command."

"What is your location over."

"Just crossing into Ida sector 4."

"Roger Alpha-12 over and out." Mike turned to relay the update. By the look on Dalton's face, however, he knew this was not necessary. "You heard?"

Jack nodded, heaving a sigh. "Time certainly drags when you're not having fun."

Phelps studied his new coworker sympathetically. He tried to think of something consoling to say, but met with little success. Years of detached professionalism had, regrettably, made any words of comfort a bit foreign to him. Mike, therefore decided to go for the distracting instead of the sympathetic. "Are you hungry? We've got some sandwiches and drinks in that cooler over there."

Jack considered this option and turned an inquiring eye toward his stomach. He paused, as though waiting for the bowel's vote on the matter, before eventually answering. "You know, come to think of it, I didn't have any lunch."

A pleased expression passed over Mike's features. His distraction was a success. "Good! Why don't you go grab you something while I check on Alpha-5 and Alpha-7."

Jack nodded his appreciation and wandered over to the cooler. Digging through the melting ice, he pulled out a Coke and an unmarked ziploc that contained some sort of sandwich. "If only finding Mac and Sam could be this easy," he muttered. Upon opening the bag, he discovered that it held a turkey on wheat with mayo. Despite having missed lunch, Jack somehow found the offering unappetizing. Not wanting to disappoint Mike, however, he plowed ahead. After swallowing the first bite, it became clear that the problem was not the food. The problem was a king-sized lump in his throat accompanied by a knot of steel in his stomach. As he struggled to down another mouthful, Jack leaned against the tent wall. In the background he heard Mike's voice chattering on the radio. Sectors, units, ETA's - the information all seemed to blend into one hopeless, nasal monotone. "Oh, Mac . . . please don't go anywhere. We're coming I promise. Do anything else you want, but please, just don't move."

XXXXXXX

Jack's plea was not to come true. Back at the cafe, Mac and Sam were just restarting their engines. After exchanging brief, reassuring looks, they headed out. Leaving the parking lot slowly, the bikers then accelerated to an acceptable rate of speed. As expected, the blue van followed their lead within a matter of seconds. According to plan, the MacGyver-Malloy team played out their strategy. After a few minutes of "normal" driving, the pair gunned their engines. Then, as the first turn of the track was approached, they banked hard right. The motorcycles hovered at almost thirty degree angles, yet both drivers maintained perfect balance. Pulling safely out of the turn, they instantly righted themselves and once again added to their speed.

Having anticipated these tactics, Murdoc was not easily deterred. Despite the unsound aerodynamic qualities his van possessed, the assassin plunged into the curve. Tottering on two squealing wheels, the E150 briefly flirted with the notion of rolling over on the spot. This event was narrowly avoided, though and like his prey, Murdoc quickly engaged his accelerator.

This opening stretch of the turn off road was one of the weak areas Sam had indicated. Thus, as soon as the van proved its intentions, activation of defense mechanism number one became the first order of business. Of their arsenal the bags of lime had been slotted to fulfill this purpose. Before leaving the parking lot, one of them had been secured to the back of MacGyver's bike and the other to the back of Sam's. Now all that remained was to pull the trigger . . .

_You know, the minute I saw the calcium hydroxide, I knew it was going to be a good asset. It's quite a versatile substance and can be used for a variety of different things. Some of its known uses include acid waste neutralizer, hair remover, snake repellant, and natural insecticide. With any luck, Dad and I might just be able to add another little something to that list. If only our idea works . . ._

In order to begin the first line of defense, Sam pulled his bike alongside MacGyver. Once they were traveling directly parallel to one another, the first round was fired. Reaching behind them, father and son ripped the seals from their packages. With the tops now open, the powdery substance began blowing away in the wind.

_Yes! Add smoke screen to lime's list of most useful purposes . . ._

From his position in the van, Murdoc failed to observe his quarries' quick action. When the first wafts of "smoke" began to appear, he blamed the motorcycles' exhaust pipes. As the haze thickened, though the truth became all too apparent.

"Blast you MacGyver! You and your ingenious little tricks. Clever I'll grant you, but it is going to take a lot more than a smoke screen to keep me at bay!"

In spite of these fighting words, however the assassin found himself forced to a much slower speed due to limited sight distance. When at last the airborne powder began to drift away, Murdoc became incensed. The bikers were not to be seen and the hilly road ahead forked into three separate directions. The question was, which path had his prey taken? Employing his auditory faculties, Murdoc listened for the sound of retreating engines. A toothy, sadistic sneer appeared when at last the desired noises became clear. New dust then arose as the Ford E150 sprang back into action.

The next leg of the track was quite complex. Turns, curves, and small jumps rolled out to test MacGyver and Sam's abilities. Needless to say, they passed with flying colors. In fact, their timing and execution proved absolutely impeccable. Meeting with such success, both men started to relax and enjoy their little jaunt - just a little.

The opposite proved true for Murdoc. More to the point, nothing but tense anger and near miss collisions littered his journey. Eventually, the Ford's fast pace could no longer be maintained. The narrow, unfamiliar roads forced the assassin to assume a slower breakneck speed. Another inconvenience appeared in the form of pot holes. Rising out of nowhere, they surfaced to pitch and toss the van mercilessly. In response to this brutality, vituperations soon filled the E150's cab. As the harsh treatment continued, Murdoc soon began adding vile threatenings to the mix, just for good measure.

Upon completing this writhing stretch of road, Mac and Sam found themselves at the second weak spot on their route. It was long, flat and completely unprotected. The sight of all that emptiness made Mac's stomach tighten. If something was going to go wrong, here is where it would happen. Sam knew his father's thought almost instantly. In response he raised one hand and flashed the number two. Short nods of affirmation were then exchanged. Following this moment of silent communication, preparations commenced for engaging their second defense mechanism.

Sam moved his bike ahead to point position, giving himself about a thirty foot lead. He had been given the assignment of finding the perfect launch site for their final round of resistance. To do this, he was going to need a good head start.

MacGyver, on the other hand, was in charge of the actual detonation process. Decreasing his speed so that his son's advanced position would be maintained, he then began checking his mirrors every few seconds. Not until the evil shadow appeared, would Sam give the signal to deploy their next and final round.

At last, in spite of his somewhat hindered progress, Murdoc managed to emerge victorious. Rejoicing to see the long straight road which now lay before him, the assassin floored the gas pedal. Within seconds, the gap between hunter and prey began to shrink.

Mac kept a watchful eye on the van weighing its rate of speed against the amount of roadway left. As he deliberated about when Sam might launch their line of defense, the answer suddenly presented itself. Up ahead two large rock formations loomed on either side of the trail.

_Perfect_.

A wave from his son accompanied by a thumbs up, soon verified Mac's hunch. With a smile, the troubleshooter cast another glance toward his mirror. The van was gaining on them and gaining fast.

_Now, I'm not one given to trick driving. It's showy, flashy and all together unnecessary . . . most of the time. When faced with a situation like this, though I guess I'll have to make an exception._

_. . . Make that two exceptions - 'cause this isn't exactly 'extra careful' of me either._

Shaking his head, hardly able to believe what he was about to do, MacGyver adjusted his balance. Down shifting back to first gear, he pressed the gas until it reached about one third of his tach speed. After a split second he then allowed the engine to peak at full throttle. The combination of these elements soon caused Mac's Yamaha to nimbly rise onto one wheel.

Hearing the altered sound of his father's motor, Sam investigated. One short glance sparked simultaneous thoughts to flood his mind. The first and most insignificant was 'Wow! Dad riding a wheelie!' The second and more important was 'He's trying to warn me about something'. Focusing on the latter, Sam checked his mirrors. He soon spotted the rapidly approaching van. Estimating their present distance from the convenient rock formations versus the speed of their on coming enemy, he quickly deduced MacGyver's meaning. Shifting gears, Sam watched as his speedometer needle flew from around fifty five to upwards of eighty miles per hour.

At the sound of his son's Honda whining into high speed, Mac eased forward. When the front wheel returned to ground, he too upped the ante. Leveling off at about sixty five, he threw one eye to his mirror. The van was still making steady headway, but not quite as swiftly as before. Another quick assessment, convinced Mac that they would make the rocks with seconds to spare.

_Only seconds to spare . . . the story of my life!_

Detonating defense mechanism number two was going to be a little harder than triggering the smoke screens had been. In actuality, it was a two-man, two-phase operation that would require perfect timing and a lot of luck.

As Sam approached the "target zone", he slackened his pace slightly and halfway unzipped his jacket. Reaching inside, he withdrew the industrial strength magnet. When at last his Honda pulled through the rocky barrier, Sam let the magnet fly. It landed beautifully right in the center of the road. Without pausing, the young man once more gunned his engine. After traveling a hundred or so feet up the road, he suddenly down shifted and came to a screeching halt.

On the other side of the rocks, MacGyver went through a similar bit of preparation. Easing off the gas, he partially unzipped his jacket and pulled out the box of nails. Checking his distance again, Mac allowed himself to slow down a fraction more. The van was getting close, but he had to buy Sam some more time. Decelerating was just a chance he would have to take.

Having dismounted the Honda in a flash, Sam knelt beside the unpaved roadway. In his hand, he held a piece of duct tape about six inches long that was pierced on either end by a nail. Scraping away some loose sand and dirt, he then laid the object - with nail points facing upward - in the resulting groove. Following these actions, Sam replaced the sandy dirt so that only the the thin nail stems remained visible. A quick reach inside his jacket soon produced an identical pair of duct taped nails. Crossing to the opposite side of the narrow road, Sam prepared to repeat the process.

_According to Dad, the magnet I threw out earlier is part of a diversion. Kind of like a magician's trick. While the audience is busy watching your left hand, your right hand sneaks around and pulls a fast one. In this case, the magnet and Dad's box of nails are the left hand. Me and these sneaky strips of duct tape are the right._

"Abracadabra, hocus pocus," Sam murmured, sweeping the last bit of dirt into place. "Hope this works."

At this juncture, Mac found himself passing through the rock barrier. Popping the lid for the box of nails, he then dumped them in a wide swath across the roadway. Taking, but a brief glance over his shoulder, Mac watched as the van started to swerve. This action was accompanied by the loud scream of locking tires. Moving his eyes forward once more, Mac scanned the area ahead for his son.

In the van, Murdoc found his world moving in slow motion. One moment he had been traveling at seventy five miles per hour, practically on MacGyver's tail and the next moment everything had gone wrong. An unidentified object in the road, a quick fling of the biker's arm, an instinctive slam to the breaks, and now slow torturous milliseconds as he waited to see if the van would indeed be able to stop.

A squeal, screech and scream later, the Ford finally came to a halt. It sat at practically a right angle to the roadway, mere inches from the rock partition, but it was stopped.

Taking a deep breath, Murdoc flexed his fingers angrily about the steering wheel. Before he could vent the round of distasteful comments already forming in his mind, however the assassin's mouth fell open. There in front of him, blocking his path, were the nails which MacGyver had thrown his way. Instead of laying there motionless, though they were moving! Crawling like so many carpenter ants back to their mound. Mesmerized by the sight, Murdoc leaned forward. Scrutinizing the 'mound' which the nails were scurrying towards, he quickly deduced that it was a magnet.

"Well that was certainly considerate of you MacGyver - to make a mess and then provide for the clean up."

XXXXXXX

The past few seconds had been agonizing for Sam. Sitting there feeling helpless, as he watched and prayed for his father to appear. When at last the familiar Yamaha shot through the opening, he breathed a sigh of relief. This relief quickly doubled when he spied the van being caught in their trap. Cranking his bike, Sam then prepared for take off.

Mac increased his speed, eager to reach his son's side. When he got within about twenty five feet of Sam's position, he raised one hand. 'Chopping' several times in the air, he indicated that Sam should head out. A quick thumbs up responded to this directive and soon the Honda was once again back on the road. By the time Sam had accelerated to high speed, Mac was right behind him. A gentle arch in the roadway then carried them safely out of sight.

Having righted his van, Murdoc prepared to resume his game. When the last nail flew onto the magnet, he moved cautiously forward. Positioning his tires so that they would pass on either side of this 'diversion', he soon cleared the obstacle. Free at last, he pressed hard on the gas. The Ford was just reaching its peak acceleration when Murdoc heard the dull explosions. Plummeting speed soon followed accompanied by total loss of wheel control. A minute later the E150 sat in a sad heap on the side of the road. Launching himself from the driver's seat, Murdoc flew out the door. One look down verified his diagnosis. Both of his front tires were now flat.

"Duct tape," he spat ripping one strip from the deflated rubber. "Duct tape and nails. I 'll get you for this MacGyver!" Angrily, the assassin kicked at his now useless wheels. Walking a few feet up the road he then shook his fist. "MACGYVERRRR!"

Farther up the road, Mac and Sam slackened their pace. Having heard the report of bursting tires, they knew phase two had succeeded. The unfriendly shadow had been stopped.

As Mac continued to ride, however, a hauntingly familiar voice suddenly rained through the sound of his motorcycle engine. The scream seemed distorted and elongated, but the syllables were undeniable. Mac unconsciously turned a worried eye toward his son. By the expression he saw there, it was clear that both of them had heard the same thing.

As Sam traded looks with his father, an unexplained rush of panic ran through him. Pulling ahead, he found a dirt shoulder and parked. Mac soon came alongside and also stopped.

Struggling to keep the anxiety out of his voice, Sam began. "Dad, who was that?"

Mac had been expecting that question, but somehow he couldn't find the words to answer. Rubbing a hand over his face he tried to wash the memory of the scream from his mind. It persisted on echoing through his thoughts, though, accompanied by waves of cold shivers. _Of all the skeleton's in my closet, why did it have to be this one?_

"Dad, who was that?" Sam repeated in a demanding tone.

"It's someone I used to know. His name is Murdoc."

"And?"

"And he's a . . ." Mac's words trailed off as he tried to find a more innocuous way to say 'homicidal maniac'.

"He's a what? C'mon Dad I have a right to know."

Mac's forehead knit into several tight knots. At last he met his son's questioning eyes. "He's a semi-retired hit man."

Sam swallowed considering this bit of information. "I take it, he doesn't care for you too much?"

"You could say that."

"So, what now?"

"Now, we get as far away from here as possible."

"But, what about him?"

"It's a long story, but I promise you - going after him wouldn't do us any good. He has this nasty habit of always slipping away. I know it's irregular, but you're just going to have to trust me on this one. Okay?"

Sam nodded slowly. "I trust you Dad. But will you promise to explain all of this to me sometime?"

Mac flashed a quick, relieved smile. "I promise."


	7. Chapter 7: The Fallout

Chapter Seven: The Fallout

The atmosphere inside the makeshift command post could best be described as hesitant excitement mixed with tense apprehension. Jack, who had finally managed to choke down most of his sandwich, was now, once again, hovering in front of the map. "What kind of progress are we making?" he asked for the hundredth time.

"Alpha-5 should be entering K-3 any moment. Alpha's 12 and 7 are still running a little behind," Mike supplied patiently.

Jack removed his pilot cap and ran one hand through his hair. Looking somewhat like a nervous, expectant father, Dalton began to pace. "This is worse than watching paint dry," he declared replacing his cap agitatedly. "How can we be getting so close and yet still be so far away all at the same time?"

Though he knew this was a rhetorical question, Mike wished he could supply an answer. The past few minutes had seemed to drag by with amazingly slow speed, even for him. In an effort to kill time, Phelps began chatting into his radio.

Jack listened to his coworker's conversation, but was unable to stop pacing. Upon hearing Alpha-5 announce entry into sector K-3, however, he froze. "One down, two to go. Alright Mac we're coming me boy, we're coming!"

A few moments later Alpha-12 crossed into J-4 with a projected ETA of eight minutes remaining.

"C'mon boys and girls, we can do this," Jack muttered encouragingly as he again resumed pacing.

"Alpha-7 just made it to J-5," Mike updated. "Remaining ETA ten minutes."

Dalton rubbed both hands over his face. "C'mon, c'mon."

But time would not cooperate. Heavy seconds ticked by reverberating loudly in Jack's ears. _One banana, two banana, three banana, four_. . . he counted mentally before laughing at his own foolishness. _My best friends are out there possibly fighting for their lives and I'm standing here counting off seconds in bananas. I must be cracking under the pressure._ _I guess I never was one to be calm in an emergency, though. That was always Mac's end of the stick._

"Alpha-12 is in K-4!" Mike announced unable to keep a leash on his excitement. "He should have a visual on Cold Springs Station any minute."

Abandoning the trench he had worn in the dirt floor, Jack hurried to Phelps' side. Crossing his fingers, the pilot waited with bated breath. "How long do you think it will be before we hear something?"

Mike held up his hands and patted the air. "A little patience, Jack. I know it's hard, but . . ." The commander's words of wisdom were then interrupted by Alpha-12.

"Alpha-12 to Command Post, come in Command."

"Command Post to Alpha-12, go ahead."

"Negative contact with any motorcycles, but we have spotted a blue box van off the side of the road near Cold Springs Station. He appears to be in distress, we're going to lower altitude and . . ."

Interrupting the spotter's report were several metallic pings. The transmission was then lost leaving Jack and Mike in the lurch.

"I'm no expert and I hate to sound like a man jumping to rash conclusions, but that sounded like bullets glancing off metal to me," Dalton stated with concern.

"Take it from a man who has flown helicopters in a war zone before, those were definitely shots," Mike declared in an unequivocal tone. "Alpha-12 do you read me? Come in Alpha-12."

An obviously shaken and adrenaline filled voice soon responded. "Alpha-12 to Command. We have just come under fire. Are attempting to rise out of range."

Another spatter of gunfire could then be heard over the still open radio line. The unhealthy sound of a coughing engine and a dying rotary blade then filtered through.

"Alpha-12 what is your status?"

"Alpha-12 to Command. Our main rotary has been hit, we're losing altitude, but the subject with the van seems to have ceased firing."

Jack gave the table a hard punch before quickly springing into action. Riffling through the charts, he soon produced a topographical map.

"Mike, get their exact location - fast!"

"Command to Alpha-12 what is your current lat and long?"

Upon receiving the helicopter's latitude and longitude, Jack hastily plotted them on the map. "Ah-ha, this is perfect. Mike, tell them to move west and take the craft over that hill."

The message was relayed and both men waited tensely for a response.

"Alpha-12 to Command. We're losing power and altitude, too rapidly - no can do."

Jack made a motion indicating that he wanted to borrow Phelps' mic. The agent responded instantly relinquishing all control to Dalton.

"Alpha-12 this is your commander. We've got to get something between you and that lunatic with the gun - that hill is your only chance. I know it's a long shot, but you can make it. Trust me I've been in closer scrapes than this, now move." Jack hoped he had sounded both encouraging and commanding all at the same time. Soliciting an outside opinion, he made eye contact with Mike. The admiration he found waiting for him there, spoke volumes. As if to confirm the agent's favorable verdict, Alpha-12 soon came over the frequency again. The spotter's voice was still a bit shaky, but this time it was tainted by a smattering of confidence.

"Alpha-12 moving west, sir. Still losing altitude, but maintaining partial engine power. . . Nearing the hill . . . She's gonna' scrap a little dust off of this one, sir . . . Skids having erratic contact with the ground at this time."

"Alpha-12 keep moving. Do it in hops if you have to, but get onto the other side of that hill," Jack interjected.

"Alpha-12 hopping, sir," was the almost amused reply. "Beginning descent . . . engine starting to falter . . . altitude dropping rapidly now . . . twenty feet and counting . . . ten, nine, eight . . . three, two . . ."

A loud concussive jolt soon jarred the command's radio. For a moment there was absolute silence. Mike and Jack exchanged worried stares as they waited to hear the outcome.

"Command to Alpha-12, come in!"

After what seemed like an eternity, the spotter's voice at last returned. "Alpha-12 to Command. Have executed emergency landing . . . are about to exit craft."

"Alpha-12 keep traveling due west on foot - look for shelter that will provide cover for your eastern flank." Jack let his finger release the mic's button. "'Eastern flank' - I actually sound like I know what I'm talking about," he muttered with surprise. "Either that or I've seen too many war pictures." Handing the controls back to Phelps, he then clapped decidedly. "Okay, Mike, get Alpha's 5 and 7 on the wire. Find out how long it will take them to converge onto 12's location."

Before this task could be begun, however, Alpha-7 chimed in requesting Command Post.

"Command Post to Alpha-7 go ahead."

"Command Post, we have two motorcycles in sight. Believe them to be our target subjects. Can you advise how to proceed."

Mike, who thought this would certainly be taken as good news, looked up with a smile. Ironically he found that his counterpart appeared far from pleased. Struggling to understand what could possibly be wrong, he reiterated the report. "Jack, didn't you hear? Alpha-7 has found your friends."

Jack's frown deepened and he nodded dumbly. "I heard. Ask Alpha-7 about Mac and Sam's status."

Mike complied without argument, though he was still thoroughly confused. Thankfully the unit's response was quick.

"Alpha-7 to Command. Target subjects appear to be 10-4. Traveling at normal, constant speed down US-50 southbound. No additional traffic in the area."

Jack gritted his teeth and inhaled deeply. Releasing this breath through still clenched jaws, he then formulated a reply. "Tell Alpha-7 to abandon target."

"What?"

"Tell Alpha-7 to abandon target," Dalton repeated harshly.

"But Jack . . ."

"Have him move into sector K-4 and approach Alpha-12's crash site from the east. Get Alpha-5 to come in from the west. I want 7 coming in high and 5 moving in low."

"But Jack, what about your friends?"

Dalton took another hard gulp of air before breaking eye contact. Turning his back to Phelps he then continued. "5 is going to make the pick up. Alpha-7 is to be the decoy and I want him at peak altitude - well out of bullet range. Hopefully 7'll be able to provide an unreachable target for our mad man as well as a little cover noise for Alpha-5's motor. With any luck, 5 will be able to pick up our guys without being detected."

Mike reached forward and, with a commanding grasp, turned Dalton about. The men locked eyes, and for a moment Phelps pondered offering another objection. His intentions were cut short, though when he spied the man's growing look of determination. In the end, it was Jack who finally spoke.

"No buts commander. We've got a pilot and a spotter to save."

XXXXXXX

A small eternity later, the rescue operation was complete. It came off without a hitch and was a roaring success. It wasn't until after wards that things began to decline. . .

"My head is spinning in triplicate. Don't these guys ever stop?" Jack muttered.

"It's just standard red tape. Anytime something like this goes down, the local law enforcement has to make a thorough investigation," Mike supplied in an attempt to be encouraging.

"Fat lot of good a thorough investigation is gonna' do when they can't even find the shooter. It's been three hours and all they've come up with is an even bigger zero than when they started. No fingerprints, no tracks, no nothing." Jack reverted to pacing in an attempt to work out his frustration. When this effort again met with little success, he continued to complain. "And why in heaven's name do I have to keep repeating the same story over and over. Couldn't they just get one person to record it and then let all the other interested parties just read a transcript. I mean, I feel like a broken record."

Mike snagged his coworker mid-lap and pulled him to a stop. Placing a reassuring hand on Dalton's shoulder, he then summoned a sympathetic look. "Try to relax, they're just doing their job."

"I know," Jack sighed. "I know. . ."

XXXXXXX

An hour or so later, the local authorities announced that they were fairly satisfied. Though confusion still abounded regarding the disappearing assassin, their paperwork was correctly filled out so all was declared well. The Phoenix agents were then advised of this determination and allowed to leave.

"So Jack - what now?" Phelps questioned as they walked toward an awaiting jeep.

"I dunno' Mike. I spoke with Pete and he says I should come home."

"But what about your friends?"

"He seems satisfied that they're okay. Your pilot conveniently found our supposed hit man so . . ." Dalton shrugged. "According to Pete we now know or at least believe that Mac's no longer in any immediate danger - seeing that we thwarted the bad guy's progress." Jack tried to appear optimistic, but his furrowed brow refused to cooperate.

"You don't sound convinced," Mike observed noting the man's facial contradiction.

"No I'm not, darn it," Jack muttered punching a fist into his open palm. "If only I could be sure that they're alright, maybe . . . but I can't just fly home and give up on an assumption."

The Phoenix jeep's mobile phone interjected a metallic ring into the conversation. Phelps gave his friend a quick pat on the arm before moving to pick up the receiver.

"Agent Commander Phelps, here . . . Yes sir he is . . . right go ahead . . . Yes sir I'll tell him . . . You're welcome and thank you sir." Flushed with uncharacteristic excitement, Mike turned to Dalton. "Jack, that was L.A. Base on the phone - they've had contact with your friends."

"Wonderful! What'd they say?"

"Apparently one of our ground units caught up with them on US-50 about an hour ago. MacGyver and his son must have been unsure of who they were dealing with, though because they took them on quite a tour. Eventually they managed to lose our guys along a back road."

Jack seemed disappointed. "Oh great, now we're right back where we started."

"Not quite. About five minutes ago a voice message was discovered on Mr. Thornton's home phone. Unfortunately they couldn't trace the number, but according to the message your friends have stopped over somewhere for the night."

"Did they say where?"

"No. Just advised that they were staying with a friend of MacGyver's."

"Nothing like specificity," Dalton joked rolling his eyes. "Based on that description he could be any one of half a million places."

"Sounds like he's in good hands then, doesn't it?" Mike asked trying to elicit a positive response.

Jack had to smile at his coworker's effort. As he pondered the new development, however he, too began to feel somewhat reassured. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Pleased with his progress, Mike continued. "So you'll be heading home then - back to L.A.?" Detecting a note of hesitation, Phelps sweetened the proposition. "Mr. Thornton said that in his message your friend promised to be there sometime tomorrow morning . . . without fail."

Dalton's grin widened. "Wouldn't want to be late for that, would I?"

Mike shook his head. "No, you wouldn't . . . Good luck, Jack and thanks."

XXXXXXX

_You know, there is something about running for your life that can make you, well, tired; and constantly looking over your shoulder can kinda' take it out of you. This being the case, Sam and I were pretty well done in by the time eight o'clock rolled around. Of course having a homicidal maniac on your tail does complicate things. You can't just stop anywhere. If the season had been right, we could have camped in the Inyo National Park. What better place to find cover than in the woods right? Unfortunately, during December the camp sites are off limits - so on to the next best thing. Enter Charlie Honnicker - U.S. Forrest Ranger stationed in Inyo Park. He and I worked together a few years back while I was doing some conservation research for Phoenix. Great guy. Lucky for us he still remembered me, even after all these years. Believe me, 'My home is your home' has never sounded so good._

_When we decided to stop over for the night, I called Pete from a pay phone to let him know what was up. He wasn't home, so I had to leave him a message instead - told him not to worry. Of course, knowing Pete, he probably did anyway. To make matters worse, I didn't feel like entrusting his machine with any details so my message ended up being a bit vague. It went something like 'ran into a little snag - don't worry - staying overnight with a friend'. Real informative, huh? I feel like a prize rat about it, too . . . but after running into Murdoc, I'm not taking any chances. No registering at hotels, no detailed phone calls or messages and worst of all no explanations. I just hope Pete will understand . . ._


	8. Chapter 8: Enter Murdoc

Chapter Eight: Enter Murdoc

Pete Thornton sat in a disagreeable heap before his desk. Despite having spent the entire night mulling over reasons why he shouldn't be worried, the Director now found himself even more concerned than ever. A brief consultation with the enlarged digital clock soon exacerbated this apprehension even further. "Eleven fifteen! Where can he be? MacGyver - you're supposed to be here already. Don't do this to me. Call, write, send up smoke signals, anything!"

A knock tapped to the beat of 'shave and a haircut six bits' then sounded on the office door. Roused from his musing, Thornton uttered a low sigh. "Come in."

"Hi ya' Pete! Heard from Mac and Sam this morning?"

Thornton let a groan slip before responding. "Hello Dalton. No - there's been no word."

Jack tried not to let his disappointment show. Flopping down in a nearby chair, the pilot offered a little reassurance. "The morning's still young - we'll hear something soon."

"Young? Jack it's eleven fifteen."

"Eg-zactly," Dalton remarked stressing the syllables. "The day's just beginning."

Pete rolled his eyes, but decided not to argue the point. An awkward silence then followed as neither man knew what else to say. Thankfully Helen's voice on the intercom broke the soundless standoff.

"Mr. Thornton, Ms. Carpenter and Willis just called from the lab. They say they've found something you should see."

"Do they want me to come down?"

"Yes, sir, as soon as possible."

"Fine. Tell them I'll be right there."

"Yes sir."

"What was all that about. Something to do with Mac?" Jack questioned growing concerned.

"I don't know, Dalton. I don't know."

XXXXXXX

An elevator ride and two sterile corridors later, found Thornton approaching his destination. He counted down the doorways until at last the appropriate one had been reached. Swiping his pass key, the Director then entered.

"Willis? Nikki?"

"Over here Pete."

Making his way toward the voice, Thornton soon ran into Nikki. "What have you found?" he demanded without pausing for the amenities.

"Plenty. Willis - this is your baby, why don't you explain."

Nodding, the scientist obediently began his oral report. "The local SID team that went over the Ford E150 sent me the results of their findings this morning. They found traces of formaldehyde and rehalogenising bleach in the carpet."

Pete frowned as he considered these results. "Formaldehyde? As in . . ."

"Film development," Willis declared. "On it's own, the presence of formaldehyde could indicate any number of things, but coupled with the rehalogenising bleach . . . Someone was using the back of that box van as a dark room." After indulging a brief pause, the scientist soon continued. "Also the sheriff's department let a Phoenix team in to search the van early this morning. Our boys managed to find something the local law enforcement missed - they found a hidden compartment beneath the passenger seat."

"Hidden compartment? What was inside?"

"The answer to our mysterious mobile faxing device. There were lengths of wire and cables capable of tapping into any exposed phone line, along with a small fax machine rigged to draw power from an engine battery. I was curious to see just how well something like that would work. I did a little scrounging and managed to compile all of the necessary parts for a little experiment."

"And?" Pete prompted impatiently.

"And it works like a charm."

XXXXXXX

Helen stood completely absorbed in her filing cabinet. Strumming through various tabs, she searched in vain for a rather elusive folder. Due to her heightened state of concentration, the secretary failed to notice when someone approached her from behind.

"For my favorite secretary."

These unexpected words, along with the magical appearance of a bouquet of flowers, made Helen jump. Pulling in a quick breath, she eyed the long slender fingers which held the beautiful offering. There was only one person in the world who had hands like that.

"MacGyver!" Pivoting on her heel, Helen turned with a snap. There, standing before her with a large homespun grin was the wandering troubleshooter.

"Merry Christmas Helen." To Mac's surprise, this simple greeting elicited a strangled sob from the secretary along with a few tears. "Hey - hey what's wrong with my girl, huh? Don't tell me you don't like wildflowers anymore."

Helen offered an amused humph at this remark and unfurled her handkerchief. "Oh, Mac . . ."

Putting his arm around the secretary's shoulders, MacGyver gave her a little squeeze. "Hey, there's nothing to cry about. C'mon, now give me a smile."

An unceremonious thwack soon interrupted these soothing words. Knowing that this commotion meant someone had emerged from Pete's office, Mac turned about expectantly. To his surprise, the figure he saw was not his former boss, but . . .

"Jack Dalton? What the heck?" Mac flashed a broad, if somewhat confused smile, and advanced toward his friend.

"Oh-ho Mac me boy!" Jack replied with enthusiasm. "Am I glad to see you, or am I glad to see you!" To emphasize his point, the pilot slapped his hands together with a grin and did a little jig step. Opening his arms wide, he then gripped Mac in a huge hug. After a few hearty claps on the back had been exchanged, Dalton suddenly pushed away. A large, uncontrollable grin decorated his face and for a moment he eyed his buddy mischievously.

"What?"

"I loves ya' man - I really do," Jack replied, his eyes still a-twinkle with mischief.

The wary sidelong glance MacGyver exacted on his friend, quickly contorted into a look of disgust, as Dalton unexpected planted a kiss on his forehead. "Jaackk!" Mac cried tainting the name with annoyance and displeasure. Wriggling himself away, he then held the pilot solidly at arms distance. "I'm glad to see you too old buddy, but let's not over do it."

Shrugging indifferently, Dalton grinned even wider. "I can't help it amigo, you really had me going there for awhile. I was worried about you man. But now you're here safe and sound!"

"Worried? I don't . . ."

Mac found himself cut off mid-question as another voice penetrated the conversation. It came from behind him and sounded more than a little familiar.

"MacGyver!"

Mac froze instantly, raised his head and stared briefly into the middle distance. Allowing himself but a split second to reflect on his initial auditory identification, he then swung sharply around. "Nikki?"

Advancing down the hall in an almost tangible cloud of worry, Carpenter hastened her steps. The expression on her face projected an array of emotions that ranged from relief to anger to excitement. She tried to speak, but somehow the words refused to flow properly. "Mac you - you . . ."

MacGyver held up a hand in anticipation and winced. Thus prepared, he waited for some mildly offensive adjective to be thrown his way. When none came, he tentatively cracked open one eye.

"MacGyver you . . ."

"You already said that," Mac prodded with the hint of a smile.

"Oh!" Nikki humphed with frustration as she came to a standstill before her subject. "You're incorrigible," she declared when nothing stronger came leaping to mind.

Mac shoved his hands into their pockets and strengthened his smile ever so slightly. "Thanks."

Instead of articulating a response to this show of indifference, Carpenter merely mustered a disapproving stare and leveled it at her former coworker. Even as she stared him down, though, her focus began to wane. The man's contrary habits gradually took on secondary importance and she fell to considering how wonderfully unchanged he appeared. There was the boyish grin she remembered, the same sparkle in the eyes and the shaggy blonde hair with its minute traces of gray. So irresponsible, so unprofessional and . . . so rakishly handsome! Again the emotional war within her began to rage. Yes she was glad - no, ecstatic - that Mac was alright, but she hated the effect his presence always had on her. How was it, that this overgrown free spirit always seemed to knock her just a little off balance? And why was she always unable to concentrate with him around? Being thus torn between feelings of affection and irritation, she found herself wondering whether or not to kiss him or punch him in the arm. Opting for something in between these two, she impulsively decided to embrace him instead.

Mac's face blanched with shock as this maneuver was executed and he found himself unsure of how to respond. At last he managed a mild, "Nice to see you, too Nikki."

The manner in which this greeting was delivered, reminded Jack of the soft measured tones one might use when dealing with the mentally unstable. He had to admit, however, that even if this lady was a few bricks short of a load, he would hardly find a hug from her objectionable. "Why do I never get attacked by beautiful unbalanced people? Talk about a fun way to go, does this happen to you often, pal?"

Mac rolled his attention toward Jack and shrugged sheepishly. "Not lately."

The sound of this banter along with Dalton's resulting laughter was enough to cause Nikki to break away. When she did so, her tearful look of relief vanished to be replaced by profound displeasure.

Mac spotted the shift and once again braced himself for a verbal dressing down. What came instead, though, was a hard blow to the arm.

"I swear you are the most aggravating man I have ever met. Just exactly where have you been?"

"Ow," MacGyver mumbled rubbing his arm protectively.

"Hello, my name's Jack Dalton and you are?" the pilot interrupted.

Nikki spared Jack, but a short, annoyed glance before again addressing MacGyver. "Stop acting like a whipped puppy," she snapped, "and answer me. Why didn't you call?"

"I didn't have your phone number," Mac responded flatly still massaging his forearm.

"Feisty, too I like that," Jack commented interposing himself between Carpenter and her victim. "Mac who's your pretty friend?"

Nikki spat out a groan of disgust and folded her arms. "You're impossible you know that?"

Simultaneously, Mac and Jack raised questioning fingers to their chests and lifted amazingly innocent brown eyes.

The sight of these hurt 'who me?' looks caused Nikki's face to flash with irritation. Slapping at Jack's still pointed finger, she then returned her attention to MacGyver. "I was talking about you, but your friend here certainly seems to be rather impossible himself. What were you thinking dropping off the face of the planet like that? You had me . . ." a pause accented by a flush of the cheek was interjected at this point and Carpenter hastened to correct herself. "I mean _us_ - worried sick!"

Mac offered a lopsided grin at the agent's personal pronoun slip and raised an eyebrow. "It's nice to know that I've been missed," he replied in a slightly low voice. "But what's with all this worrying? I've come back from missions where I dang near got myself killed with less fuss and concern than this." Without giving Helen, Jack or Nikki a chance to reply he then launched another question. "And where's Pete?"

"Right here, Mac."

Swiveling towards the voice, Mac broke into a soft sentimental smile. A flood of warmth then swelled in his chest at the sight of his old friend. In that moment, somehow all of the weekly or even daily phone calls over the past nine months seemed woefully inadequate. _Man, I've missed you Pete!_ Covering the distance between them in three long hasty strides, he came to a halt in front of his former boss.

Pete could see very little of his friend, but the gentle confident presence was undeniable. Reaching out, the Director found Mac's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He instantly felt a hand grip his in return. A mist rose to cloud his already dim vision and Pete found himself at a loss for words. Then, co-instantaneously, both men pulled each other into a hug.

"I missed you, Pete," MacGyver murmured.

Hearing the words, Thornton held onto his friend just a little tighter. "Yeah. Me, too."

"A lot!" Mac added for emphasis.

"Trust me, you have no idea. . ." Pete returned with a soft laugh.

Gradually then, the two separated and turned toward the others. Mac gave Pete his arm and together they retraced his steps. "You look good Pete. I sure am glad to see you."

"Not half as glad as I am to see you. You really had me . . ."

"Worried - yeah, so I've been told," Mac interjected. "What's with all this concern anyway? How did you find out that something was wrong?"

Fifteen minutes of explaining then followed as facts and events encompassing the past twenty four hours were exchanged by all concerned. Willis came up from the lab and the available data regarding the case was compiled. When Mac saw the photographs he became somewhat uneasy.

"I don't like this, Pete. If these were just pictures of me, that'd be one thing, but there are too many with Sam, I . . ."

"Sam! MacGyver where _is_ Sam?" Pete found himself almost shouting as he realized that the young man was and had been conspicuously absent.

A wave of silent alarm then spread through the other occupants of the room as they each turned to Mac for an answer.

"He's at Widow Canyon - or at least he was. By now, though, he's probably on his way here."

"Do you think he's safe out there alone?" Nikki asked, fingering one of the photographs.

"Well I did this morning, but now I'm not so sure." Mac rubbed his forehead with agitation. He then began recounting the decision process that had led to the present situation. "After our run in with Murdoc yesterday, I knew that the guy must have tapped into the Phoenix phone line - otherwise there's no way he could have known where to find us. That being the case, I figured Murdoc would have to be privy to the rest of our arrangements, as well; so I decided to mix things up a little. Our original plan was to come straight to the Foundation, pick up Pete and then head out to Widow Canyon."

"So you decided to reverse the order to throw Murdoc off track," Jack surmised.

"Or to catch him on our trail. Unfortunately we don't seem to have done either." Mac sighed and picked up the stack of photos again. "We didn't have any problems out on the road this morning and the cabin was clean – I made sure of that. We checked the entire area thoroughly and didn't find a thing. It was then that I decided to come in alone without Sam. Since Widow Canyon checked out okay, I figured Murdoc had to be planning something here at Phoenix or perhaps something along the last few miles into town. Either way, I didn't want Sam to get caught in the middle."

"And Sam agreed to stay behind?" Nikki questioned incredulous. Though she had never met the young man, if he was anything like his father, such an acquiescence would hardly be in character.

Mac detected the tone of Carpenter's voice and stiffened slightly. "No. He doesn't know why I wanted to come in alone. At least he doesn't know the real reason." Standing abruptly, MacGyver began to pace. "He'd have never agreed to it if he'd known the truth."

"What did you tell him?"

"Thankfully, nothing. While I was still trying to work something out, he took care of it for me. Suggested that I come in alone so that me and Pete could have a little time to reminisce."

"Well that worked out. It'd be terrible to have to lie to your kid."

This comment unexpectedly came from Dalton and Mac threw him a cockeyed look. _Jack considering the repercussions of lying? It must be the millennium._ Opting not to comment on the pilot's fit of morality, MacGyver merely shrugged and waved an exasperated hand. "Yeah, that's what I thought, too. Worked out perfect all around. But now . . ."

Nikki reached out and clasped Mac's hand. "He'll be fine. Don't worry."

Slowly Mac shook his head. "I shouldn't have left him alone. Maybe I'm not exactly the healthiest person to be around right now, but at least if I was with him. . ." MacGyver's voice faltered and his words trailed off. _How could I have let this happen? If only I had stayed with him at least we'd be together. At least he wouldn't have to be alone. Then maybe, just maybe, I could do for him what I have failed to do for the rest of my family. . . maybe I could protect him._ Mac's throat suddenly became unbearably tight. His tongue and cheeks felt abnormally dry while conversely his eyes seemed abnormally moist. Air, he needed air. Air and maybe some water. "Hey, listen, I'm gonna' go grab some water. I'll be right back." With that he gently pulled out of Nikki's grasp and hastened to the door.

MacGyver soon found, however, that leaving the confines of Pete's office did little to alleviate his uneasiness. Nor did the drink from the water fountain loosen his constricted throat. Finding himself, thus thoroughly unsuccessful, Mac leaned back against the wall with disgust. A moment later, his fist delivered a solid blow to the supporting surface. "I should _never_ have left him alone."

XXXXXXX

Murdoc pulled his newly acquired van into an abandoned parking lot. The tires squealed briefly as the assassin, came to an abrupt sliding stop. Exiting the vehicle with great haste, he then trotted towards a large warehouse style structure. Upon reaching the back door, he quite succinctly picked the lock and entered. Once inside, Murdoc scanned the large yet predominately empty space. To the far left there was a mid-sized cargo plane while to the right there stood what a generous person might call an office. It consisted of a desk, a chair, mounds of paper, and a file cabinet – all arranged to give the illusion of a professional workspace. Though it failed miserably at this endeavor, the sparse furnishings still managed to attract the assassin's attention. With clipped steps, Murdoc quickly approached the simple office. Within moments, he had found exactly what he was looking for: a telephone. Picking up the receiver, he then dialed an old familiar number. After but one ring, the line was answered.

"Helen my dear, how deep your voice has become . . . Oh but of course I knew you sounded familiar. Hello, MacGyver, remember me? . . . Yes I thought you would . . . What do you mean you've tried? MacGyver that's not a very nice thing to say . . . My but we're in a testy mood this afternoon . . . yes, yes I'll get to the point if that's what you want Kill-Joy . . . Alright, no games, here it is: If you're waiting for Sam to show up at the Phoenix Foundation you're wasting your time. . . Such a suspicious mind, no I haven't done anything to precious son. I do suggest, however, that if you ever want to see him again you should come and meet me . . . Where? Why at Dalton Air . . . Oh, and MacGyver, don't keep me waiting, too long. It might prove to be rather unhealthy – for the both of you."

With that and a wild, derisive laugh, Murdoc hung up the phone. This promised to be a most enjoyable afternoon.


	9. Chapter 9: Unexpected Development

Chapter Nine: Unexpected Development

MacGyver listened as the irritating hum of a dial tone sounded in his ears. Though Murdoc had quite unceremoniously disconnected a few moments earlier, Mac found himself hesitant to do the same. Doggedly he held onto the receiver almost willing the assassin to pick up again . . . but it was not to be. The one line of connection between him and his son had been broken and there was no way to get it back. Therefore, with a deliberate, heavy hand he at last returned the phone to its cradle.

_Not knowing is probably the worst sensation you can ever experience. It's like being pressed from all sides by things you can't even see. That's how I felt earlier when I wasn't sure whether or not Sam was in trouble. My gut told me something was wrong, but it couldn't tell me where to find him; and it couldn't tell me how to help. In a way, it was almost claustrophobic._

_Now, after talking with Murdoc, I feel as though a door has thrown open. I no longer feel like I'm being suffocated by the unknown. Thanks to my least favorite homicidal maniac, I now know that Sam is alive and well. . . for the moment anyway. Another big relief is that I also now know where he is. That means I can help him. Granted the situation is far from ideal, but all things considered, it could be worse._

As Mac mulled over this new development, he began considering various response options. The biggest decision he faced was whether or not to go in alone. It wasn't a question of if his friends would be willing to help - he already knew the answer to that question - what he didn't know was whether or not he wanted them there. After all, accompanying him to the site of an almost certain ambush would result in them becoming instant targets. This being the case, it took Mac only a few moments to make his decision. Scrawling a note to leave on Helen's desk, the troubleshooter then proceeded to make a quick inventory of his pockets.

_Swiss Army Knife, duct tape, a double 'A' battery, two lengths of wire, some string, four matches, and five paper clips. Not much, but I'm sure to stumble on some other useful items along the way._

Being thus mildly satisfied with his current resources, MacGyver crossed to the elevator. He pressed the 'down' button and watched for a response. When the indicator light revealed that the car would be coming from the lobby, Mac became impatient. Murdoc had intimated that there was some sort of time limit. Though he had no idea exactly how long this limit might be, he certainly didn't feel inclined to waste unnecessary minutes standing around here. Revising his plan with a quick snap of the fingers, Mac then ran towards the stairs. As he did so, foot steps and a voice rang out behind him.

"Mac what's up? . . . Mac where are you going?"

It was Jack.

"Stay here. I'm going to get Sam – I'll be back," MacGyver yelled over his shoulder.

Hardly deterred, however, the pilot continued his pursuit. When Mac plunged through the stairwell door, Dalton was quick to follow. He momentarily regretted this decision, when he realized that MacGyver was running up the stairs instead of down. "Oh great. Defying gravity the old fashioned way – my favorite thing. . . Mac do you mind telling me where we're headed? I know it's trivial, but if we're going to run all the way I need to when I can collapse."

XXXXXXX

Having heard this commotion, Nikki withdrew from Pete's office to investigate. Her investigation turned up several empty hallways, a few vacant rooms, and finally Mac's note. Scanning the lines briefly, Carpenter could not believe what she read. Surely this could not be happening. A wave of denial mixed with apprehension then swept over her as she hurried back to Thornton's office. "He's gone," she announced by way of introduction. "Listen to this:

"Dear Pete, I just spoke with Murdoc. He has Sam. I am going to meet him at Dalton Air. Please don't worry and please don't try to follow me, at least not yet. Give me an hour – if you haven't heard from me by then, do whatever you think is best. I know I am asking a hard thing, but humor me just this once. Please?

"And it's signed 'MacGyver'."

Of all those present, Pete was the most profoundly impacted by the note's contents. He found himself torn between the necessity of heeding his friend's request and his own desire to completely ignore it. How could he just stand by for an hour when Mac and Sam's very lives hung in the balance? This was not simply a hard thing to ask, it was nigh on to impossible! "Try not to worry," Pete muttered under his breath. "And just how am I supposed to do that?"

XXXXXXX

"I thought I told you to stay behind," Mac called down without slackening his pace.

"So sue me – if I live that long," Jack puffed bounding up a few more steps. "Now, are you going to tell me what's happened?"

"I just spoke with Murdoc. He has Sam."

"Wonderful," Dalton spat with sarcasm. "So what are we gonna' do about it?"

Without answering his friend's question, Mac burst from the stairwell onto Phoenix's uppermost floor. Pausing for a moment he then threw a hasty glance up and down the corridor. Jack piled out behind him gasping for air.

"You're right Mac. This floor is much better," he wheezed. "So now what?"

"C'mon. There's an express elevator that runs from this floor all the way down to the parking garage."

"The parking garage?"

"Yeah, the parking garage." Mac reasserted as if it should be obvious. He then turned down the hallway to his left and assumed a gait just shy of a run.

Struggling to keep up with his counterpart's long-legged stride, Jack began skip-jogging every few steps so as not to fall behind. "Of course - the parking garage," he gasped. "That's always been one of my favorite places. Is Sam down there?"

"No." At this juncture the pair came upon the express elevator. The doors opened almost immediately and Mac hurried inside pulling Jack along behind him. "C'mon baby, take us down," he murmured pressing the appropriate button.

"Okay, so Sam is not in the garage, but that's where we're headed. Mac, I don't get it."

"You don't have to. You're not going."

"I'm not? I sure feel like I'm going," Jack muttered between heaves.

"Not any farther than the parking garage you're not."

"Like fun I'm not! Look I don't know what all is going on here, but one thing's for sure – I'm not about let you go galloping off to who knows where to face who knows what without me. Why it'd be like sending the Lone Ranger off without Tonto."

"I appreciate the thought, Jack, but it's me Murdoc wants. If you come along it'll just give him someone else to shoot at. I don't want that."

"Well who cares what you want," Dalton shot back. "After all I've got a stake in this, too you know. Sam's my only nephew, or at least the closest thing I've ever had to one, and I want him back safe and sound just like you."

Mac placed an affectionate hand on the pilot's shoulder. "I know how you feel, and I'm grateful, but this is my responsibility. I got Sam into this mess and . . ."

"And you're gonna' need help getting him out - aren't you? Of course you are and that help is me," Jack declared placing a thumb on his chest to emphasis the point. "Besides, I've got a score to settle with this Murdoc guy. He owes me big time and whether you like it or not this is my golden opportunity to collect."

"Golden opportunity, huh?"

"You betcha'. Besides, with you watching my back what can possibly go wrong?"

"You're crazy you know that," Mac stated with exasperation.

"Absatively - so where are we going?"

Sighing a breath of resignation, Mac regarded his exultant friend. "To Dalton Air."

Jack's momentary triumph suddenly disappeared beneath a wave of consternation. "My place? Murdoc is meeting you at my place? What's with this guy? He already blew up my bed, my cab and my fuzzy dice, isn't that enough?"

Mac made a face, but before he could comment the elevator jolted to a stop. As soon as the doors opened, both men emerged on the run. Unfortunately they headed in different directions.

"Jack, where are you going?"

"I thought we could take my car. I've got the sweetest ride now. Just wait 'til you see her!"

"You've got to be kidding. Ever mechanical thing you own breaks down."

"Not this one. It's different. It never breaks down - almost."

"Almost isn't good enough, Jack. We're taking my wheels."

"But Mac you've only got two. Mine has four. That makes it twice as good!"

"Forget it, now c'mon."

XXXXXXX

"Of all the insane, addled-headed things to do," Nikki fumed, now quite recovered from her initial shock. "Nine months of retirement have really messed with that already questionable brain of his. Does he actually plan on taking Murdoc down all on his own? Who does he think he is?"

"He just wants to protect us," Willis rationalized softly. "That's the way Mac is."

"Besides he's not exactly alone," Helen corrected, trying to be optimistic. "Unless I miss my guess, Mr. Dalton must have managed to tag along with him."

Carpenter brandished a stern expression and folded her arms. "Trust me, with _that _as back-up, he's about as alone as he can get." Rotating her focus, Nikki then addressed her former boss. "Pete, I'm going after him."

Thornton's forehead knotted into several deep rolls as he struggled to respond. It would be so easy to just say 'yes – go after him, I won't stop you'. But Mac had asked, no begged him not to let that happen. Could he violate his friend's wishes? It would be so simple, yet . . . "No. No, Nikki. You can't go." Pete closed his eyes in frustration and rubbed a hand over his face. "Not now. Mac asked for one hour – I've got to give him that."

"But Pete . . ."

"No buts, Carpenter," Pete declared firmly. "Mac knows what he's doing. I believe in the man's judgment. I don't like it, but I believe in it. If he said to give him one hour, then that's what we've got to do."

XXXXXXX

Fifteen very fast and very illegal minutes later, MacGyver's Yamaha pulled into the Dalton Air parking lot. The riders dismounted without a word and cautiously approached the hangar. From what they could see, nothing appeared to be out of place; but years of field experience had taught both men that things are seldom as they appear.

_You know, there are just some things you never really get used to . . . like getting shot at, climbing sheer-faced cliffs, jumping out of perfectly good airplanes, or knowingly walking into an ambush. No matter how many times you do it, the old adrenaline will still get to pumping. Of course when you add in the responsibility of protecting a long-time friend and saving the life of your son, things get even more stimulating. But why stop there? Mix in an insane assassin with a horrible knack for survival and you'll have the makings for a perfectly nerve wracking day . . . How do I get myself into these situations?_

The back door to Dalton Air slowly squeaked open. Hearing the unoiled hinges, Mac shot his friend a critical look. In response, the pilot's mustache fell and he held a reproving finger to his lips.

"What's wrong with you?" he hissed. "Do you want Murdoc to know we're here?"

Mac knit his brow into a tight wad and rolled his eyes. After waving a dismissive hand in Jack's general direction, he then proceeded to make entry. Slithering between the gap allowed by the now half opened door, Mac tried to keep himself as low as possible. Once inside, he wasted no time in obtaining adequate - if somewhat small cover - behind a nearby crate. As Jack struggled to follow suit, MacGyver scanned the area about him. He visually dismantled everything in sight – the plane, the office, the rafters, the walls – but surprisingly found nothing amiss. There appeared to be no elaborate traps, no explosives, no cameras, no nothing. As the troubleshooter tried to work out exactly what this development might mean, Jack silently arrived at his side.

"Well?" the pilot whispered.

Before Mac had a chance to formulate a reply, a disembodied voice rose to greet them.

"Well, well if it isn't MacGyver - and you brought Jack Dalton along. And here I've been thinking that you would come alone in the true spirit of Knight Valiant, St. George the dragon slayer and all that sort of rot. Oh well, it isn't that important."

Mac felt his stomach begin to churn as he listened to the assassin's ramblings. Why did he always have to talk so much? "Alright Murdoc, you wanted to meet me, so here I am. What now?"

"Getting straight to the point, I like that MacGyver, I really do." Despite these words of praise, however Murdoc did not get to the point. Instead he fell completely silent.

As he waited for what might come next, Mac found himself breaking into a cold sweat. The air in the hangar grew uncommonly thick and he felt swallowed by the silence. After what seemed like an eternity, though, the stillness finally shattered. Mac could not think of a time when boots clicking on concrete had sounded so good. Following this slim auditory trail, his eyes soon lighted upon a far corner. Digging his optics into the dark space, he at last managed to discern the assassin's form. Having now pinpointed Murdoc's location, Mac riveted his every fiber on maintaining eye contact. This was one unfriendly, he did not intend to lose.

Murdoc sensed the merciless way in which he was being watched and slowly began to smile. He continued walking - thoroughly undaunted - until he was completely in the open. "What's the matter MacGyver? Afraid I'm going to dematerialize on you again?"

"Maybe."

"Well, you needn't be. Believe it or not, I don't intend on doing any vanishing right at the moment. I have other more important matters on my mind."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Like helping you save your son."


	10. Chapter 10: The Twist

Chapter Ten: The Twist

_Like helping you save your son._ The words echoed in MacGyver's ears, unconsciously making him draw back. His already tight facial muscles etched themselves a notch deeper and he struggled to comprehend the man's words. In truth, he felt like a victim of cognitive whiplash. Murdoc the killer, the man he had assumed responsible for Sam's disappearance, now offering to help him. . . no, this did not make sense.

Dalton was equally dazed by the unexpected comment and sank back on his haunches, gripping the sides of his head. Giving his brains a good shake he then looked toward his friend. "Did he just say what I think he just said?"

Mac opened his mouth as though he were about to offer some logical explanation, but found himself at a loss for words. A look of profound confusion then settled on his tense features and he arched both shoulders helplessly.

Disturbed by the resonating silence, Murdoc decided to probe for a reaction. "MacGyver, are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"Good, I thought for a moment I might have lost you."

"Well you did in a way. Did you say you wanted to help me?"

"Yes . . . Now why don't you come out from behind that ridiculous crate and I'll explain everything. And don't worry, as you can see I am unarmed." As he spoke the assassin pivoted himself on one heel thereby allowing MacGyver to view him from every angle.

Repositioning himself, Mac narrowed his eyes and began to scrutinized the figure before him. Hands, collar, waistband, pockets . . . all appeared to be empty and quite weaponless. Exhaling a breath that sounded a great deal like a moan, Mac debated about how he should react. At length, and with a great deal of apprehension, the troubleshooter started to rise. He didn't yet know if he believed the assassin or not, but one thing was for sure – there was only way to find out.

"MacGyver! Have you lost your mind!" Jack hissed snagging him by the arm.

"Maybe," came the not so reassuring reply.

"Maybe! Mac get back down here! Don't go wandering off on a maybe!"

Hearing these quiet shouts of protest, Murdoc tried to ease the pilot's mind. "Dalton, Dalton, Dalton," he cooed. "Relax. Come and join us. I promise my intentions are most honorable."

"What do you know about honor?" Jack challenged with a snap.

"Well, I'm usually dishonorable, so that would mean that anything abnormal for me would be honorable – yes?"

"He has a point," Mac whispered leaning close to Jack's ear.

"A point," Dalton muttered slightly disgruntled. "I'll give you 'he has a point'." Despite these grumblings, however Jack finally yielded and came to a standing position.

"Now that's more like it," Murdoc enthused spying his victory. "Really all of these years of animosity have just been so wasted."

Mac's face darkened at this flippant remark and he instantly fired a paralyzing glare in the speaker's direction.

Murdoc raised an almost intimidated eyebrow. "If looks could imprison, eh MacGyver? But then what fun would that be?" When this comment received an even grimmer reaction than his previous one, the assassin tried to make amends. "Alright, I'm sorry. I suppose I know how you feel and I can understand your hostility, really I can, but do try to lighten up."

"Lighten up? Murdoc I don't know what kind of sick game you have planned here, but . . ."

"This is no game MacGyver - not anymore." These words, unlike their predecessors, seemed to verge on being sincere. They were spoken in all seriousness and somehow lacked the hit man's usual deadly undertone.

Detecting this uncharacteristic inflection, Mac again felt uneasy. "What's going on Murdoc?"

Smiling tersely, the assassin gave a deferential bow of the head. "Shall I start at the beginning?" Two flaming brown eyes answered this question and Murdoc gave a curt nod. "Right. Well, the first thing you should know is that there is a contract out on your life. That this is not an unusual state of affairs for you, I am well aware, but this particular contract is a bit different. Have you ever heard of an organization called K-Inc?"

"Kink?" Mac's voice declared disbelief.

"No, not 'kink'" Murdoc sneered, imitating the troubleshooter's tone. "K-Inc, as in K for Killing and Inc for Incorporated."

"You've got to be kidding," Dalton interjected.

"No, I'm not kidding - and don't look at me like that. Is it my fault they started in Germany and their name just doesn't translate well? It really loses a lot, trust me."

"I'd sooner trust the weather man," Jack fired back.

Sensing the need to intervene, Mac put a quieting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Take it easy Jack. I think we may need to hear what he has to say. Okay, Murdoc, so what does this Killing Incorporated have to do with Sam?"

"Well now here's where things get interesting. You see, K-Inc is sort of Europe's version of H.I.T. Very efficient, very low profile, and very deadly. So deadly in fact, that they have managed to secure almost seventy-two percent of all the contracts issued in Europe over the past year."

"Nice guys," Jack observed.

"Quite. My kind of people actually, but that is neither here nor there. The point is, now they have decided that dominating the European market is not enough. They want to dominate the whole world – assassination wise. Of course, to do this, they must first overcome one major obstacle. . ."

"Just one?" Mac asked incredulous.

Murdoc smirked in mock amusement and then continued. "As I was saying, they must overcome one major obstacle, namely their biggest competitor: H.I.T. Granted they have already managed to dent them somewhat with their recent activities, but the Trust is still quite strong - especially in the Americas. In order to take them down, K-inc is going to have to prove that their organization is more accurate and more reliable. Unfortunately, MacGyver, this is where you come in."

"Me? What have I got to do with it?"

"Isn't it obvious? You represent one very important blot on the Trust's otherwise illustrious record. You are one mark that got away - more than once I might add - and that makes you their point of vulnerability. If K-Inc can succeed where H.I.T. failed, then that will prove their superiority. It would be quite a staggering blow."

Mac walked a few paces in no particular direction and tried to digest all of what Murdoc had said. After a moment, he turned sharply and raised a questioning finger. "You still haven't told me what all of this has to do with Sam. If it's me they want, why is he the one that's missing?"

"Because old chap, in the same way that you are H.I.T.'s weakness, that boy is yours. My guess is that they intend to use Sam as bait to lure you to some discreet location. K-Inc is a very secretive organization - they hate witnesses. Besides, your death is supposed to be a major event. It would be too much of an anticlimax if they just shot you like any other mark. They undoubtedly have something special in mind for you – and for Sam."

Hearing these words, MacGyver began working his jaw muscles overtime. "Trouble-magnets, the both of us," he mumbled at length. "Alright, Murdoc, there's something else I have to know."

"And what is that?"

"Why are _you_ telling me all of this?"

The assassin inhaled a deep breath and reclaimed the gap that had developed between himself and MacGyver. Standing before his favorite victim, he then spoke. "Two reasons. The first, and most important, being that killing you is a pleasure I want reserved completely for myself." The hit man smiled evilly for a moment and allowed these words to hang in the air. When Mac refused to appear disturbed, the assassin grinned once more and resumed his explanation. "Of course, I do not intend to dispose of you anytime in the immediate future you understand. After all, MacGyver, if you turn up dead now, the credit for your death will become a disputed honor. K-Inc might try to claim responsibility and then where would I be?"

"In jail, I hope."

"Now, don't be bitter, after all you still haven't heard my second reason. I'm sure you'll like it much better. . . You see, I'm being paid to protect you."

Of all the surprises he had received during the past twenty minutes, this one was by far the most improbable. In fact it was so ridiculous, Mac had to laugh. "You're being what?"

"Paid to protect you."

"By who?"

"By H.I.T. They figure that by keeping you alive, their organization will continue to prosper. They picked me for the job, because, well . . . it was actually a rather dubious honor, I admit. My ex-employers thought that since I had succeeded so grandly in not killing you before, that I would be the logical choice to keep you from dying now." Murdoc's face contorted strangely at this point and he seemed to waffle between feelings of anger and amusement. Before either emotion could subside, however, the assassin hastily plunged back into his narrative. "At any rate, we settled on a wonderfully exorbitant price and I went to work. Of course, I've had so little practice protecting people, that I wasn't quite sure how to go about it. Then, out of the blue, it came to me!"

When the assassin paused here for dramatic effect, Mac became impatient. "Murdoc. . ." Uttering the name as though it were a threat, he then moved a fraction of an inch closer. A 'get on with it' wave of the hand soon followed and the hit man obediently continued.

"Well, I decided that the best way to keep you safe, was to make you protect yourself."

"Make me protect myself?"

"Yes. I knew that if I could just arouse that disgusting knack of self-preservation you have, then K-Inc wouldn't stand a chance. So rather than trying to guard you, I started hunting you instead. I approached the matter as I would have any other assignment – like a deadly game of chase. When you set out to lose me yesterday, I knew that I had done my job well. Your protective instincts appeared to be running in rare form. Of course, when you succeeded in giving me the slip, I started to worry. With me out of sight I was afraid you might start to relax. That's why I yelled out my calling card. I figured if you recognized me as your stalker, then you would be sure to take extra precautions."

Mac tilted his head to one side and eyed the assassin suspiciously. "What about all of those photographs?"

"Oh that . . . yet another ingenious scheme of mine. Aside from being very secretive, K-Inc also happens to be very cautious. By getting Peter and the Phoenix Foundation involved, I hoped to make the matter too risky for K-Inc to continue - kind of like buying a big dog to put in the front yard. Unfortunately it doesn't seemed to have deterred them as I'd planned. Either they haven't picked up on the Foundation's involvement or the investigation is so far afield that they do not feel threatened."

"Okay. I have a question," chimed in Jack. "If all of this is true and you were just trying to help, why the heck did you shoot at my man's helicopter yesterday?"

"I was hired to protect MacGyver, not your helicopter. Besides, getting captured by you fly boys was not exactly in my plans."

"Your plans," Dalton repeated under his breath. "You snake-eating half-skunk, you almost . . . "

"Such language," Murdoc interrupted in an admonishing tone. "And really now, what did you expect? You should know that I don't care what 'I almost'."

Burying his outrage at the man's total lack of humanity, Mac once again asked about his son. "Murdoc, you still haven't told me about Sam. What's happened to him?"

"Well, I shan't bog you down with details, but long story short, I stumbled upon Sam's trail this morning as he was leaving Widow Canyon. Knowing that he would ultimately lead me to you, I followed him. When we got to the highway, though another car showed up on our tail - it was one of those delightfully predictable black vehicles, you know the kind you see in every gangster movie?"

"Yeah, so what happened?" Mac prompted.

"The usual thing. Take a look at these, they explain everything." Walking towards the small office space, Murdoc picked up an envelope from the desk. "Photography is a very rewarding hobby, you should try it some time. Don't ask me how I got these, suffice it to say, I am a man of many talents."

MacGyver received the envelope and withdrew its contents. Hesitantly, he then began sifting through the various pictures. The story which unfolded in his hands was not a pretty one. In silence he watched as his son's front tire was virtually shot out from under him, followed by both bike and rider being sent careening off the highway. Several shots later Sam's body could be seen sprawled on the ground with his thoroughly demolished Honda piled about twenty feet away. As Mac's eyes lingered on this final picture, a flood of memories swelled within him. Suddenly, he was back in time, many years earlier. . . It had been one week before Christmas then, even as now, when he had learned of yet another accident - the one which had claimed the lives of his father and grandmother. Their's had been the accident he could not prevent. The accident he had promised himself would never happen again. Jolting his mind from these ruminations, Mac forced himself to speak. "What happened - after this I mean? Is he . . . is he . . ." The word caught in MacGyver's throat and his sentence stumbled to a halt.

Sensing what remained of this unasked question, the assassin responded. "Dead? Is that what you're groping for?" Receiving a nod, Murdoc proceeded. "No I doubt it."

"Doubt it? You mean you don't know?"

"Well not in so many words no, but I do have more than a reasonable doubt that he is still with us."

"Start explaining Murdoc."

"Alright, well after Sam's little accident, that black car I told you about pulled off along the shoulder. I parked just out of sight over the next hill and approached on foot. By the time I reestablished eye contact, the driver of the vehicle and two other men had begun examining your son. They checked him from head to toe, tied his hands and then loaded him into the car."

"What! And you just stood there! Murdoc, why didn't you stop them?"

"Well, what did you want me to do MacGyver? There were three of them remember? I suppose I could have whipped out my bazooka, but that wouldn't have done Sam much good. Bazookas don't discriminate you know."

Mac waved his hand in a quieting gesture. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. What happened then?"

"I doubled back to my van and followed them to an address out in the valley. It appeared to be some sort of gated estate. I took some exterior shots of the place - care to see them?"

MacGyver waited expectantly and reached out to receive the new lot of photographs. As he skipped through them, a new wave of memories began to surface. Pointing to the residence, Mac squeezed his eyes shut as though fighting to retrieve some elusive piece of information.

"Mac, what is it?"

"I know this place, Jack. I've seen it before. It's not an estate. I mean it's not just an estate, it's more than that." Mac snapped his fingers a few times and grasped at his forehead. At last everything came into focus. "A consulate."

"What?"

"It's the German consulate."

"Well isn't that interesting," Murdoc mused. "Quite a stunning bit of craftiness, too. Any K-Inc operative in the employ of a foreign statesman would be blessed with immunity - to a certain degree anyway. So, MacGyver, what do you think now? Do you believe me?"

In spite of himself, Mac flashed a half-smile in the assassin's direction. "More or less. Jack can I use your phone?"

"Sure, anything to be of service. What's up?"

"I've got to call Pete. If I'm not mistaken Phoenix was contracted to install the security system for that place."

"The security system?" Jack cocked his head for a moment and considered the matter. A flash of understanding then spirited across his face. "Mac are you thinking what I think your thinking?"

"Probably."

"Mac that's crazy! Look at this picture. Those are guards, Mac. Guards with guns, Mac - big guns. As in one thousand bullets per minute guns, Mac."

MacGyver nodded attentively, but continued to dial the phone.

"Mac are you listening to me?"

"Every word, Jack."

"You are not," the pilot grumbled. "But I suppose, we don't have much choice do we?" Smothering a sigh, he then offered and an expansive shrug. "So what's a few bullet holes among friends? Lions den here we come!"


	11. Chapter 11: Ready

Chapter Eleven: Ready . . .

The private telephone on Thornton's desk suddenly came alive. It's ring cut through the air and sparked a slow wave of tension to sweep the office.

Taking in a deep breath, Pete answered the incoming line. "Thornton here."

"Hi, Pete, it's Mac."

"MacGyver! Thank God, are you alright?"

"Yeah Pete, I'm fine, but I've got a bit of a situation."

"What's happened?" Thornton demanded. "Is Murdoc there with you?"

"Yeah, Murdoc's right here."

There was a mildly lighthearted edge to this remark which Pete had not expected, nor could he explain. In reaction, his brows knit tightly together and his eyes fell downward, as if searching for some sort of solution. Before he could find any plausible answer, however, Mac continued.

"You're not gonna believe this Pete, but, ah, well, Murdoc says he wants to help me get Sam back."

"Back? But he . . . Mac I thought . . ."

"Yeah, you and me both, Pete, but apparently it's all been a misunderstanding. Well sort of a misunderstanding. The pictures were sent by Murdoc and he was the one in the van, but he's not trying to kill me - at least not right now."

Pete's mouth, which had taken on a somewhat ajar position, now slowly closed. A veritable mask of confusion then covered his face and he was unable to respond. Mac sensed this hesitation and quickly jumped to the rescue.

"I know what you're thinking, Pete and it sounds crazy to me, too, but it's the truth – temporarily anyway. Hey listen, I need you to check me on something . . . wasn't the Phoenix Foundation contracted to install the security system for the German consulate? The one in the valley?"

"German consulate? MacGyver . . ."

"Please Pete, it's important."

Thornton sighed, buried his questions, and began rummaging through his memory bank. "Yes," he replied at last. "Yes we did. It was about three years ago; part of that move to privatize the security providers for California's international users. Phoenix won the contracts for Denmark, Sweden and Germany. We designed, tested and installed unique systems for each consulate. Then, once they were in place, we relinquished all control back to the various diplomatic heads of security. But Mac, I still don't understand what all this has to do with Sam."

"Well, its kinda complicated, Pete, but according to Murdoc, Sam is being held hostage at the German consulate. I've got to try and get him out, but to do that I'm gonna' need the plans for that security system. Think you can help me out?"

XXXXXXX

Sam's senses roused slowly. The first clear thought he registered was one of discomfort. Though initial impressions told him that the pain was everywhere, he soon determined that this was an over-dramatization. Focusing hard, he managed to pinpoint the main source of physical displeasure: his head.

_You know, being knocked unconscious is not one of my favorite things. It makes your head and body feel sorta' inside out . . . talk about a disturbing feeling. On top of that, it really hurts like heck._

Giving himself a moment to adjust to being awake, Sam laid very still. Gradually, his mental processes seemed to fall back into place and he tried to determine the nature of his nearby surroundings. Almost immediately he noted that he was in a horizontal position - not exactly a surprising fact given the circumstances, but a fact nonetheless. The next thing he noticed was that his wrists were pulsing with a dull sort of throb, probably due to having been bound recently. The fact that this observation could be phrased in the past tense was a definite plus - being left without constraints was always a good thing. Another item which caught his attention, was that he felt cold - cold and almost damp. He was also frightfully uncomfortable. The area which he occupied seemed to be quite hard as though it were made of concrete.

_Okay - cold, damp, concrete . . . someplace underground? Let's see, could be a basement, or a cellar. Of course with my luck it's probably some fancy in-ground prison with enough security to rival Fort Knox._

XXXXXXX

MacGyver tapped his finger on the desk to no particular rhythm. An annoying beep chirped in his ear, serving as a reminder that he was still on hold . . . as if he could forget. It seemed like an eternity since Pete had left the line and Mac was beginning to worry. Thornton had placed him on hold so that he could check the availability of the information Mac needed. The longer he was gone, the more likely it became that there might be some sort of problem. Since the project had been completed three years earlier, Pete was unsure whether the technical specs would still be in the Foundation's main frame computer. With older material such as this, there was always a good chance that it might have been shifted to one of Phoenix's larger, off-site data systems for storage. If this was the case, then it would take a lot more time to exhume the necessary files. As he considered this possibility and the repercussions it might have for his son, Mac's agitation grew. He increased the beat of his finger and allowed his eyes to roll toward the ceiling. Finally Thornton's voice returned to the line.

"Mac, you still there?"

"Right where you left me, Pete. Whatcha' got?"

"We got lucky. All of the blue prints and schematics for that German consulate are still right here at Phoenix. I've authorized the Record's Department to print you off full copies of everything we have on file. Want me to bring them down as soon as they're finished?"

Mac rubbed one hand across his forehead and deliberated for a moment. His protective instincts rebelled against the idea of asking Pete to come anywhere near Murdoc - truce or no truce. That said, he also had no intention of letting Murdoc out of his sight, which meant he couldn't go and retrieve the plans himself. "Um . . . no Pete. Don't you come down, ah . . ." Looking up, he suddenly spotted Jack lurking nearby. _Of course!_ "Pete I'm gonna' send Jack up there. Can you release all of the information to him?"

"Certainly. We'll be waiting for him. Oh, and Mac, one more thing."

"Yeah, Pete."

"Promise me . . ." the older man's voice slowed for a moment and Mac heard him take a breath. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

A smile warmed MacGyver's face. "I promise, Pete. And you try not to worry, okay?"

Thornton humphed at this remark and chuckled softly. "Right. While I'm at it, I'll try not to breath, too."

XXXXXXX

Moving ever so carefully, Sam eased himself to a semi-erect position. Unfortunately, this upward motion proved to be a bit more disquieting than he'd expected and took a great deal more effort.

_Sitting up . . . now who's bright idea was that?_

Propping elbows on knees, the young man leaned forward heavily. With a groan he then sank his head into the awaiting palms. A brief wave of nausea rippled through his body and for a moment he toyed with the idea of laying back down. This option was quickly squelched, however and he forced himself to inhale a few short quick breaths. At last, when he was fairly convinced that his breakfast would stay exactly where it should, the young man again lifted his head.

_Well that was fun. Now what . . ._

When nothing definite came leaping to mind, Sam tentatively decided to open his eyes. Though he mentally prepared himself to be met by some blinding ray of light, what he found instead was a room lit by nothing more than a dim glow. Breathing a sigh of relief at being spared this potential trauma to his already king-sized headache, Sam then began looking around. It soon became apparent that meager lighting was not the only dull aspect to his prison. Measuring approximately fifteen feet in all directions – side to side, top to bottom - it resembled an uninviting gray cube. There was one door present which, despite being immovable, appeared to have no visible lock or handle. A single can light, the source of the room's subtle glow, hung over head and appeared to be well out of reach. There was also a lone air vent along one wall, but it too seemed of little value, being slightly on the diminutive side. More to the point, had this particular vent grown any smaller it simply would not have been there at all. The last object of interest in the room came in the form of a low jutting concrete partition. Sam did a little investigating and soon learned that this item's sole purpose was to shield the 'essential facilities' from view. Accompanying these hidden fixtures were, of course, the necessary pipes. Unhappily, a quick test of the sink's primary joint revealed that it had been tightened beyond all hope of loosening. As for the walls themselves, they, along with the floor and ceiling, appeared to be made completely of concrete.

_Okay, so not much to work with here. The door's out. Mom always said I was good at picking locks, but I don't have the vaguest notion how you pick an entire door. Can't use the air vent, even if I could reach it I'd have to be a bug to crawl through that hole. I've got water, that's always useful. Can't think of a thing to do with it right now, but . . ._

Raking one hand through his hair, Sam took a few moments to collect his thoughts. The room had offered him little hope, but maybe something else would turn up. On impulse, he started checking his pockets. Like his father, Sam always carried around a lot of miscellaneous items which he thought might prove to be useful at some point - like now for instance. As he padded himself down, though, the young man was disturbed to find that all of his random bits were missing. His duct tape, his Swiss Army knife, his strand of exposed negatives, his gum wrappers, his set of shoelaces everything – gone. On top of all this, he also realized that he was without his leather jacket. "Aw c'mon . . ." Sam muttered under his breath.

_What did he think I was gonna' do, use the zipper to saw my way out of this box? An interesting concept I'll admit, but a bit tedious in application._

Rubbing the back of his neck, Sam slowly began to pace. With each deliberate step he worked towards finding a possible solution_._

_So, the question is, what can you make with air, water, lead pipes that won't move and a dim light bulb which you can't reach? Off hand I'd say absolutely nothing . . . but its just that sort of negative thinking which once inspired an optimist to coin the phrase 'on the other hand' . . ._

XXXXXX

"I never said I wouldn't go!" Jack protested with a theatrical flare. "I just said that I didn't want to leave you here alone with . . ." Dropping his voice down to a whisper, Jack cast his eyes about surreptitiously. "With you know who."

Mac couldn't help but smile at his friend's melodramatic behavior. "You don't have to whisper, Jack," he chided. "Murdoc is standing right there - and he can hear every word you say."

"Eavesdropper," Jack mumbled eying the assassin. He then quickly turned back to MacGyver and resumed his argument. "I just don't like it, Mac. Why he's a . . . he's a . . ."

"Charming fellow," Murdoc offered in an uncharacteristic show of good humor.

"No," Jack corrected. "A killer is more what I had in mind."

"But a reformed killer," MacGyver reminded. "In a round-a-bout sort of way. Now will you get outta' here? I'll be fine."

"But Mac . . ."

"I have an idea," Murdoc chimed in, just for the sake of aggravation. "I'll go."

Mac shot a reproving glance in the hit man's direction. "No - and you stay out of this." Without waiting for a response, the troubleshooter then swiveled a semi-cross expression towards Dalton. "Now this is ridiculous. Jack will you just go?"

The pilot opened his mouth as if to offer another protest, but stopped short when he saw MacGyver raise an index finger. A warning look, tainted by an unspoken plea for compliance, soon followed and, together they spelled the end to Jack's resistance. Shrugging with defeat, Dalton lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay. I'll go, but only if you give me permission to break every speed limit between here and Phoenix and back again? I'll be riding your bike so any tickets would be in your name."

Mac narrowed his eyes and tried to look severe. "Jack . . ."

"Alright, alright. I guess that is overdoing it a might. Tell you what, I'll settle for permission to just tactfully overshoot a few, how 'bout that?"

XXXXXXX

_Okay, so it's twenty minutes later and I'm still working on my 'other hand' . . . That doesn't mean things are completely hopeless. After all, if I just keep pacing like this I could end up with a nice little trench in the floor and then . . ._

Before Sam could finish these fanciful ramblings, he was interrupted by three loud, successive clicks. Resembling amplified versions of dead bolts releasing, these clicks were soon followed by the cell door swinging open. It swung inward about two feet and ground to a slow, heavy halt. Watching this event in a somewhat skeptical fashion, Sam then waited to see what would happen next. Cocking his head to one side, he eyed the door suspiciously and listened for some sign of life. Finally, when he had just about reached the end of his patience, a voice called to him.

"Mr. Malloy - Mr. Sean Angus Malloy? Or should I call you Mr. MacGyver?"

Sam's eyebrows took on a lopsided appearance and one corner of his mouth formed a frown. Something was not right. The accent and delivery of these words did not match the pattern of the scream he'd heard only yesterday. Even allowing for possible distortion due to the difference in volume, there was simply no way this could be the same fellow.

"Well?" the voice prompted with impatience.

"Ah, actually Sam would be just fine." Blowing out a strained breath, the young man quietly reproved himself for the pedantic beat of this reply. _C'mon now. You can do better than that. Just think about what Dad would do . . ._

At this juncture, the voice again spoke. "But of course, how clumsy of me. That nickname is your preference, now isn't it?" There was another pause and then the smooth words continued. "Well, Sam, would you like to come out and meet your captors?"

_Now there's an exciting prospect. How can I resist an offer like that?_ Cautiously, Sam approached the opening. Standing just to one side, he reached out and gave the door a push. When no ill-fated shot gun blasts, machine gun fire, or explosives detonated as a result of this action, Sam nodded with satisfaction. He then took a moment to visually examine the door. It appeared to be equipped with three hydraulic powered locks which could be activated or released by a single turn-handle knob. _Hydraulic power. Interesting. With a little adjustment on my part, this might just be my ticket outta here._ Moving into the doorway, Sam nonchalantly placed one hand on the lowest cylinder. Without looking down, he then gave the hydraulic gear-head a few subtle twists with his thumb and forefinger. _Okay, one down. Two to go._ Not wanting to attract attention by continuing to hesitate, however, Sam decided it might be best to adjust the remaining cylinders later. Thus determined, he brandished his most relaxed look and emerged from within his hole. The room he entered proved to be equally as unattractive as his own, except on a much larger scale. The lighting also seemed to be a great deal better, a fact which he was not altogether excited about. Squinting against the glare, Sam raised a hand to protect his eyes. From beneath this umbrella, he then scanned the area ahead for, as the voice had put it, his captors. Spying the slender figure of a man along an opposite wall, Sam walked a few feet deeper into the room. As soon as he made this advancement, instinct told him that someone - or someones - had moved in behind him. Suddenly, his former quiet, impregnable cell became extremely desirable. Without turning around, he tried to determine the number and condition of those behind him. Listening carefully, he heard the soft scuffing of shoes followed by the not so soft cocking of weapons. Eyeing the floor, the young man then spotted two elongated shadows. _Oh great! King Kong and Godzilla, just what I needed_ _. . ._ An unexpected movement then attracted Sam's attention and he once more looked ahead. As he watched, the slender man he'd spotted earlier, moved towards him. When the area between them had been reduced to less than five feet, the stranger stopped. Feeling that some sort of climax was about to arrive, Sam lowered his still upraised hand and locked two easy eyes on the man before him. Offering an unenthusiastic smile, he then dug both thumbs into his pockets.

"So . . ." Leaving this sentence hanging in a 'now what' sort of manner, Sam waited for his opponent to make the next move.

"Remarkable. You are _exactly_ like your father," the man began in a marveling tone. "That calm, unassuming countenance - it's unmistakeable."

"Thanks."

"I didn't mean that as a compliment," came the dark reply. "You see, I despise your father."

"I'm sorry," Sam declared without a shred of true regret in his voice.

"You have his insolence, too, I see." When only a tight lipped smile answered this comment, Sam's inquisitor sneered sadistically. "Such an aggravating man, your father."

"That's a matter of opinion. Me and a few hundred other people I know would disagree with you on that, but it's a free country. You can believe what you like."

"Very generous of you."

Sam executed a modest roll of his shoulders and forced yet another half smile. "Of course, while we're on the subject of personalities I might as well tell ya' that I don't think much of yours so far." A curtain of steel fell across the stranger's blue eyes in response to this observation and Sam grinned a bit more. "But like I said, that's just a matter of opinion. I imagine we could dig up someone to disagree with me . . . somewhere."

XXXXXXX

Mac leaned against the hangar door and stared into the distance. A few feet to his right stood Murdoc. Though they had engaged in a bit of verbal sparring shortly after Jack's departure, it was now apparent that an understanding had been reached. A sort of 'you don't like me, I don't trust you, but we need each other right at the moment so let's get along' kind of agreement. It enabled both parties to work together on a temporary basis while still allowing their various feelings of hostility and skepticism to remain in place. For Mac's part, he found this period of 'down time' to be awkwardly satisfying. After all, this was the second time in the same decade that he and the assassin had agreed to work together. In a world where something like that could happen, anything was possible.

"He should be back by now," Mac murmured, mostly to himself.

"Well don't look at me, he's your friend."

MacGyver cocked an eyebrow at this unsolicited remark. "He'll be here. He might be late and he might have a pocket full of citations, but he'll be here." Almost as if to confirm this statement of faith, the growl of a motorcycle engine slowly became audible. Pushing himself to a standing position, Mac grinned as he spotted the approaching Yamaha. "See, what'd I tell you?"

"Oh, you told me alright," Murdoc agreed. "But what's with the black car and the van he's got with him?"

The grin which had spread across MacGyver's face, vanished when he spotted the two extra vehicles trailing into view. Instantly he recognized Pete's private car as well as an unmarked Phoenix mobile command unit. Though he opened his mouth to voice an objection to this development, Murdoc beat him to the punch.

"I hate to tell you this MacGvyer, but if they're here to arrest me, our deal's off." Delivering this comment in a tone of serious levity - if such a thing is possible - the assassin then folded his arms with displeasure.

Mac glanced toward his nemesis with an apologetic eye and held up a calming hand. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it." When Murdoc still did not appear convinced, the troubleshooter tried again. "Trust me."

Accepting this gentle prompt, the hit man finally nodded. "Alright. I trust you. But if I even catch a hint that this is a double cross, I'm gone . . . and you with me."

Hearing these words, Mac shook his head and smiled. _He's worried about a double cross? I'm the one who's trusting a homicidal maniac, if anyone should be worried about a double cross it's me!_ "Okay Murdoc. Whatever makes you happy. Now wait here, I'm gonna' see what this is all about." Receiving an unhappy smirk of agreement, Mac took a few steps backward. He lingered for a moment and watched to see if the assassin truly intended to stay put. Once he was satisfied on this point, Mac turned and sprinted toward the Phoenix ensemble.

"Jack!"

"Yo MacGyver! Glad to see you still in one piece. Mr. Congeniality been behaving himself?"

"Jack, what have you done?"

"Done?" the pilot asked in a mass of innocence.

By way of reply, Mac waved two broad encompassing hands toward the vehicles in the parking lot. "Well?"

"Oh them . . . Now don't get mad, Mac, I just thought we could use a little help in the reinforcement department. These willing and eager souls all volunteered for the job. As recruits go I don't think they're too shabby. What do you think?"

Mac uttered a moan of defeat and let his arms fall down to his sides. "Jack, what am I gonna' do with you?"

"Keep me I hope, now c'mon. These guys brought along a whole bunch of cool gadgets for us to play with – real double O seven kind of material, you know what I mean? Wait 'til to you see this stuff Mac, you'll wonder how you ever got along without it."

As Jack trotted on ahead, MacGyver reluctantly fell in behind him.

_You know, having friends is kind of like having kids. You love them, want the best for them and, above all, you want to protect them. Of course, like so many things in life, what you want doesn't always happen. At some point, they choose to take a risk and no matter how hard you try you can't stop them, you can't fix it . . . you just have to live with it._

_Apparently, my friends have decided to take a risk. They've decided to help me. It means putting their lives on the line, but that doesn't matter – not to them anyway. I guess they want to do a little protecting of their own. It's kinda' hard to accept and even harder to live with, but I gotta' admit, it's also kinda' nice . . ._


	12. Chapter 12: Set

Chapter Twelve: Set . . .

Sam watched as the slender man quietly seethed with anger. Unlike some villains he'd known, this particular one seemed to take extra care in controlling his emotions. He did not raise his voice, become physically abusive or lash out in any form, despite Sam's sharp tongue. The only visible sign of the man's hostile attitude, was his deathly threatening blue eyes. At last, after what felt like a small eternity, the murderous gaze finally subsided. Abruptly, the stranger then opened a new line of conversation.

"I am Colonel Curt Neilson. Does that name mean anything to you?"

"Nope. 'Fraid not."

A brief look of disdain glanced across the Colonel's face. "Your father has never mentioned me to you?"

"No, but then he rarely mentions the people that hate him. Says they don't make very good conversation."

"Do you agree with him?"

"Most of the time. But right at the moment, I gotta' say you have my complete attention."

"Good. Then I shall tell how your father and I first met. It was almost eight years ago. I was a Colonel in the ranks of East German intelligence. MacGyver was an agent working for your government in the DXS. While in our country illegally, your father managed to secure a list that was of great importance to my superiors. Then, through an embarrassing string of events, he skillfully eluded all of East Germany's forces and returned with the list to America. I and my confederates laid in wait for him at the docks. There we took him into custody and searched him thoroughly, but the list was gone. When MacGyver refused to tell us where it was hidden, I injected him with a slow acting poison."

Sam's stomach clenched at the telling of this heartless act, and his face grew pale with anger. "You did what?"

A faint smile of satisfaction appeared on Neilson's features and he continued. "It was a serum that I had made especially for your father. During the first few hours, it was designed to attack his ability to reason and to think, thereby crippling his resistance. Later of course, his mind would once again become clear, leaving nothing but the excruciating physical pain."

Sam balled both of his fists and worked them reflexively. In his mind he knew that this was a matter of the past, but somehow listening to Neilson made him feel as though it were happening right before his eyes. The image of his father being at the mercy of this cold-hearted killer was almost unbearable.

Eying his prisoner with a self satisfied air, the Colonel once more resumed. "The eventual side-effect of the drug, of course was a bit more serious. You see, without the antidote MacGyver would start to die. After apprising him of this fact, I had him taken to a holding room where he would have plenty of time to think things over. Your father, however had other plans. He escaped our custody and fled into the city. Almost six hours later he came back, weak and nearing the point of no return. Defying all odds, he then successfully took down my three confederates and, eventually, myself. Retrieving the antidote, he administered it to himself, and, as we all know, recovered completely." Stepping closer to Sam, Neilson sharpened his eyes on the young man. "_That_ is why I hate your father."

Sam stared back at his captor with an unyielding expression. He did not back up nor did he divert his gaze.

When it became apparent that no further reaction would be forth coming, the Colonel once again spoke. "Because of MacGyver I spent over two years in prison. At the end of that time, I escaped, established a new identity and returned to my native Germany. By then, however the wall had fallen and my services for East German Intelligence were no longer needed. It was then that I met a man named Dedric Von Schiender. Like myself, Von Schiender was also ex-intelligence and a man of uncommon vision. Utilizing the skills he had learned during his time of service, Von Schiender launched into the market of assassinations. For years he worked alone, amassing quite a fortune. Then, in 1991, he expanded his operations. He formed an organization called Killing Incorporated."

"You've got to be kidding," Sam cut in with a laugh.

"No," was the ominous reply. "I'm not . . ."

XXXXXXX

Surrounded by his friends – and one notable exception - MacGyver bent over the plans for the German consulate. Taken all at once, the security system was overwhelming to say the least. It was layered and embedded within itself like a series of checks and balances. Making entrance into this place was not going to be easy. It wasn't even going to be hard. To say that it was simply going to be hard, would have been entirely too optimistic. Arduous perhaps, close to impossible or absolutely impractical maybe, but definitely not just hard. Another problem, which he had not previously considered was the fact that the consulate was rather large and he had absolutely no idea as to his son's exact location. 'Somewhere inside' had been the best Murdoc could offer, but given the square footage of the structure, this was hardly helpful. Refusing to be daunted by these initial impressions, however Mac set himself with determination. "Alright, kids let's break it down. We've got five security cameras outside, twenty inside. There are security keypads for each of the outside doors and bell alarms on all of the windows. Motion detectors are mounted in three places within the courtyard as well as in sixteen different zones within the house. The perimeter is marked by a seventeen foot wall charged with more juice than a lightning bolt and about a dozen men with automatic weapons. The grounds are basically empty, with only a few shrubs planted along the front and side walls. There are three levels in total, counting the basement, twenty two rooms, nine closets, a walk in safe, and a four car garage." Pausing in his recital, Mac then slumped his chin onto an awaiting fist and uttered a soft grunt. "This is gonna' be a cinch."

Nikki rolled her eyes at this ridiculous comment. "I know, don't tell me – you have a plan."

"No," Mac replied frankly. "But physics teach us that there is a solution to every problem." Snagging a wayward paperclip, he then held it up for her to see. "For every up," he began and tossed the clip into the air. A second later it fell back into his hand and he continued. "There is a down."

"Thank you, Sir Isaac Newton," Jack applauded. "But just exactly how are we gonna' get into this place?"

"Very carefully," suggested Willis. "I was part of the team that designed this monster. We did everything except put in a moat of molten lava."

Pete laid a hand on MacGyver's shoulder. "There's something else to consider, Mac. This is a German consulate. If our plan should go awry and we get caught inside, it would be viewed as a major international incident. We're going to have to be extremely cautious."

The truth of this statement made Mac nod gravely. He knew all too well, that a mistake on this mission could be critical – in more ways than one. "I know, Pete," he answered quietly. "I know."

XXXXXXX

After listening to Neilson expound on how he became a K-Inc operative and the details of his current mission, Sam found himself both curious and angry. "So what now? Am I supposed to be some kind of bait or something?"

"Precisely. You see, I have relived the day that I spent with your father a thousand times. The embarrassment, the humiliation, the failure; and each time I have asked myself the same question - 'what went wrong?' Finally I realized where I made my mistake. I attacked MacGyver's mind and his body. For most men, this would be sufficient, but your father is a special breed. His life means both everything and nothing to him. He has a magnificent will to live, yet when faced with certain death he still refuses to compromise. Instead, he just presses harder and hopes for the best. A man like that is hard to kill. But even MacGyver has his weakness – and that weakness is you." Neilson paused and a cold look of determination creased his features. "By taking you, his son, I take his spirit. By taking his spirit, I will eventually take his life."

"You're crazy," Sam blurted out. "If you think my Dad . . ."

"But I don't think this of MacGyver. I know it. You see, your father will never be able to find you, not on his own. For weeks he will search and agonize and worry over you, but to no avail. He will run himself ragged, deprive himself of sleep and refuse nourishment – all for you."

Sam worked his jaw muscles intensely. He wanted to tell the Colonel that he was wrong, that his plan would never work. He wanted to tell him to go to blazes and to take his cruel plan with him, but he couldn't. All he could do was stand there and listen.

"I can tell by your face that my plan has merit. Of course, it is the final stage of this operation that is the most important. You see, once MacGyver has been sufficiently weakened, I intend to lure him here to find you - and to meet his end."

When an evil smirk again crossed Neilson's face, Sam felt his patience waxing thin. Then, slowly, he forced himself to stop and think. Striking out at the Colonel would not solve his problem. If anything, it would only make matters worse. Besides, he already had a skeleton of an escape plan forming – why should he let this pompous, over confident, sleaze bag bother him? True the man seemed to be bereft of any moral character whatsoever, but that was no reason for him to lose his cool - theoretically anyway. Of course, when put to the test, continual application of this logic could prove difficult. A bit of that Irish temper he'd inherited from his mother might just decide to leak out when he least expected it - logic or no logic. Expanding on this line of reasoning therefore, Sam determined that the best way to avoid a potential conflict was to retreat back into his hole. After all, meeting his captors had been presented as a sort of optional event, so it seemed reasonable enough that he could simply change his mind about accepting. _Should go over like a lead rock, but then who knows, it might not be so bad . . . Besides, anything's got to be better than hanging around listening to this guy._ "Well," he began tactfully. "I guess I'll be going, now. Drop in again sometime." With that, the young man turned abruptly and strode toward his cell.

In his wake, Neilson stood rooted with absolute confusion, shock and finally rage covering his face. For the first time in his career, a victim was walking out on him mid-session. "Wait a minute," he snapped, escalating his voice a fraction. "I did not say that our little interview was over."

Sam half-rotated himself toward the irate Colonel and opened his arms wide. "Hey, don't mind me. Just keep talking. I'm sure these boys would love to hear what you have to say." Gesturing a thumb in the direction of the two hulking shapes behind him, Sam then continued walking. As he reached the cell door, he placed one hand on the second gear head and adjusted it carefully. A sharp word, spoken in what he assumed to be German then sliced through the air. Instantly he froze. _I totally didn't catch that last comment, but somehow I just know that he's not too happy with me right now. The question is, what exactly is he upset about: my rejecting his company or my escape plan?_

XXXXXXX

Mac shifted his head from one side to the other eying the blueprints from various angles. He then flipped through Murdoc's exterior snapshots for the umpteenth time. Pulling out one photograph in particular, he laid it down with an air of finality. "There." Pointing, Mac indicated a power pole just inside the consulate wall. "That's how we get in."

Instantly, everyone craned forward, eager to see what sort of loop hole their friend had discovered. What they saw, however served only to confuse them. What did a power pole have to do with breaking into a building? Thornton, who was already somewhat limited by his eyesight, was the first to ask for an explanation.

"What is it, Mac?"

"A power pole, Pete or more importantly power lines. It's gonna' be tricky, but I think together we can pull it off."

"Your confidence overwhelms me," Murdoc said with mock enthusiasm, "but what are you talking about?"

"Well, we can't sneak into this place without being noticed and we certainly can't just waltz in unannounced, so that leaves us with only one alternative."

"And that is?"

"They're just gonna' have to invite us in."

Simultaneous cries of 'What?' and 'Are you crazy?' rose to meet this announcement, but Mac merely smiled. When the uproar finally quieted to a low murmur, the troubleshooter again began speaking.

"Of course we're gonna' need a few things. Willis, let me see what you've got in that command unit."

"Right Mac," the scientist responded and moved toward the vehicle. Opening up the back doors he then rattled off a general inventory of its contents. "We've got four two-way radio transmitters and one central receiver. There is a video monitor capable of handling up to six views at a time and cables to access just about any type of power feed you can imagine. We have remotes for setting charges, timing devices, and especially for you a box of miscellaneous electrical parts."

"Willis, you're beautiful. That's perfect," Mac praised and instantly began sifting through the container of electronic miscellany. A short while later, several items of value had been selected and laid out on top of the hood of Pete's car. Stepping back, Mac considered these fragments thoughtfully. "Well, that's a good start," he declared. "Now all we need is a few more odds and ends, a little window dressing and we're in business. Jack, you mind if I look around the hangar?"

"Nah, go ahead. My junk will be happy to serve, just say the word."

Mac patted the pilot on the shoulder in a thankful gesture and started to leave. Walking close by Thornton he then reached out a hand. "C'mon Pete, let's go find a few things."

Smiling, Thornton allowed his friend to take his arm and together they strode toward the hangar. "You've got that look, I can feel it," he observed in a warm tone. "That mind of yours is really working, isn't it?"

"Well, let's hope so anyway," Mac returned with a grin. Then, becoming a bit more serious he continued. "Oh, and by the way Pete. . ."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming."

Hearing these soft sincere words, Pete's smile grew. He then reached out and placed a hand over MacGyver's fingers. "Any time, Mac. Any time."

XXXXXXX

Sam felt two gun muzzles bury themselves in the small of his back. _Dang . . . I just hate it when this happens._ Another harsh command sounded in German and the young man groaned in anticipation. A strong hand then gripped his shoulder and pulled him back into the outer room. "Listen, guys . . ." he began in a placating tone, but spotting Neilson walking towards him, he suddenly ran out of words.

"You think you are very clever, don't you Mr. Malloy."

Trying not to let his fear reach his eyes, Sam returned the Colonel's look without faltering. With a show of bravado, he then opted for a lighthearted gibe. "Back to last names already? You boys certainly are touchy." In response to this, the hand which still possessed his shoulder tightened its already vice like grip. Sam winced slightly and bent away from the pain. "Hey, take it easy, I'm gonna need that later you know?" Neilson waved a hand in the guard's direction and to his surprise, Sam felt the pressure begin to release.

With an icy stare, the Colonel then spoke. "As I said before, you are a lot like your father. He thought he was clever, too."

"He is," Sam countered.

"True. But not clever enough. Not this time." Neilson paused, basking in a premature moment of victory and then proceeded. "As for you, Mr. Malloy, I can assure you that your plan of escape will never succeed."

_Oh yes, this is definitely not good. Not good at all._ As Sam dwelled further on this unhappy development, a massive lump flew into his wind pipe. Swallowing convulsively he then tried to look as innocent as possible. "Escape?"

"Yes," the Colonel replied striking a superior air. "You are working on a plan of escape. Exactly what you have in mind I cannot say, but those gears in your head have already begun to turn. I can hear them even now."

At this observation, Sam's sense of panic vanished and then rose again simultaneously. _He hears gears turning . . . Great._

Without noticing the effect his choice of words had on the young man, Neilson continued. "After all, you are your father's son. Eternally optimistic, willful, resourceful and above all - determined. But your drive and determination will do you no good. Not this time. You see, I have prepared for every eventuality. Did you notice your bare accommodations?"

With this altered line of conversation, a wave of relief filled Sam's stiff, tense body. His heart dropped from his throat and he inhaled a small breath. _Accommodations – now there's a subject I don't mind talking about. _Feeling much more at ease, he offered a somewhat lackluster smile and nodded. "Yeah, I noticed. You design the place yourself?"

Raising his chin in a show of pride, Neilson returned the young man's smile. "As a matter of fact I did."

Shrugging generously, Sam maneuvered himself just out of the guard's reach. From this mildly safe position he then responded. "You didn't have to go to all of that trouble for me."

"Oh, but I did. You see, your father's reputation precedes you. Eight years ago when he was in my custody, MacGyver converted ordinary innocuous objects into weapons, thereby enabling his escape. Since you also possess this ingenious turn of mind, I have taken special precautions. One such precaution is that you and your cell have both been stripped of all unnecessary resources."

"Funny, I never thought of a bed as an 'unnecessary resource' before," Sam muttered.

Neilson frowned at these words and seemed to simmer just beneath the surface. "During his escape, MacGyver converted a bed into a sling shot and fired it upon two of my compatriots."

Hearing this, Sam had to chew on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. _Wish I could'a seen that!_

"Because of behavior such as this," the Colonel advised, "you have been given nothing which can be moved, altered or set on fire." Neilson's usually calm voice rose to a mild crescendo at this point and he aimed an accusatory finger at Sam's face. "There will be no escape! Not for you . . . and _not_ for MacGyver. Not this time." Retreating once more into his shell of self control, the Colonel then turned sharply on one heel. Walking a short distance from his captive and issuing another command in German, he then snapped his fingers in an ugly sort of dismissal.

Feeling weapons again pressing into his back, Sam hissed in discomfort. "What'd I do now?"

"Nothing Mr. Malloy. They are merely carrying out my orders. Our interview is now over. They are placing you back in your cell."

Sam's face lighted with understanding and his mind began to race. He still had one gear to go. Somehow, he would need to get close to the door and then stall for time. As he mulled over this dilemma, the young man felt a jab to his rib cage. Complying, albeit reluctantly, he slowly walked toward the cell. When they entered the doorway, however, he happened upon a desperate plan of action. Ignoring the harsh prods to his back, Sam came to an abrupt halt. "Ah, Colonel Neilson? I just have one question." Whirling around, Sam then came face to face with the guards. Holding up both hands submissively, he sent an appealing eye to his captor. "Just one question?" When Neilson nodded his consent, Sam relaxed, placed one hand on the upper gear and leaned casually to one side.

"Well, what is your question Mr. Malloy?"

Stumbling for a response, the young man began running options through his mind. _A question, just one question, any question . . . c'mon man think! _"Ah . . . so when's lunch?" Yet another foreign phrase answered this query, prompting one of the guards to shove Sam unceremoniously into the cell. Reeling backwards, the young man caught himself against one wall and gradually lowered himself onto the floor. From this seated position, he then watched as the heavy concrete door was pulled shut.

XXXXXXX

After several minutes of scrounging, MacGyver managed to dig up two over-sized wooden spools of industrial wire, a motorized model plane, a large tool box, a bag of nails, and two pair of coveralls. Though hardly what most people would consider useful items for breaking into a secure facility – either collectively or individually - these bits seemed to bring their gatherer a great deal of satisfaction. With a critical eye, he surveyed the growing pile of supplies and smiled. This pleased expression soon faded, though, when he noticed that a very important tool was missing. "Duct tape," he announced firmly. "We're gonna' need duct tape."

"Now why didn't I think of that," Carpenter teased. "I'll go grab a roll out of my purse."

"Thanks Nikki, but I've got some extra in my saddle bags," Mac replied with a grin. "Be right back."

As the troubleshooter vanished through the doorway, Nikki sent an inquiring gaze to those around her. "Do we have any idea what he's up to?" she asked, posing the question to no one in particular.

"I, for one, haven't the foggiest," Jack replied quickly. "But so long as he knows, who cares?"

Ignoring this unhelpful response, Nikki again distributed a questioning look to the others. When she spied Willis standing with arms folded and an inspiring gleam on his face, she repeated her query. "Well, do you know what he's up to?"

Sensing the third degree eye leveled in his direction, the scientist raised his head, deep in thought. Holding up one finger as though he were about to say something important, he then spoke. "Maybe he's . . . no, I guess not."

Intrigued by even this slight glimmer of understanding, Nikki pressed for more information. "Guess not what?"

Willis offered an apologetic shrug and lowered his finger helplessly. "Oh, I don't know. Just about the time I think I've got a handle on what he's planning, he digs up some totally unrelated object, says that its just perfect, adds it to the pile and sends me scrambling back to square one. I know that there must be some sort of common element to all of this stuff, but I'll be darned if I know what it is."

At this point, Dalton Air's un-oiled door squealed loudly, announcing MacGyver's return. His figure then emerged from the shadows and he approached, duct tape in hand. As he drew close, however, it became apparent that he was also holding some other unidentified ingredient.

Squinting, Jack was the first to distinguish this mysterious element. "Fishing line?"

Mac nodded. "Yeah from when Sam and I went deep sea fishing a while back." Shrugging he added the pieces to his 'equipment'. "Don't ask me why, I just thought it might come in handy."

"That's my boy," Dalton responded, grasping at imaginary vest pockets with a proud air. "So what next?"

"Ah . . . transportation, I think. Murdoc do you still have that van?"

"You mean the one you deflated? No, but I commandeered a new one after hitch-hiking my way back to civilization yesterday. It's parked around back. Do you want it?"

"Well I was going to ask if I could borrow it, but . . ." Mac's voice trailed off hesitantly. "Did you say that it was 'commandeered'?"

Murdoc sent his eyes upward in a contemplative manner. "Creatively acquired," he declared at last with a flare of his hand.

"You mean stolen."

"Well, yes if you want to get technical about it," Murdoc admitted. "But as long as we're not planning on getting caught, what does it matter?"

MacGyver considered this line of logic critically. When he could think of no substantial objection to offer, he made a yielding gesture and nodded. "Okay. We'll use it, but as soon as this job is over it goes back to the rightful owner. Agreed?"

"By all means. I certainly don't want it."

"Alright, then. That takes care of our transportation. Now, is there anything else we need . . ." As he spoke, Mac scanned his array of gathered objects carefully. Scrolling through each step of the security system, he then matched various problems to their respective solutions. Though there did not appear to be any obvious gaps in his plan, he couldn't help but feel that he was missing something. Some small element that would make his preparations complete. Furrowing his brow, Mac again inventoried his resources. When the missing ingredient still managed to elude him, though he simply shrugged. Whatever the item was he would just have to do without it - or maybe try and make it up along the way. Thus decided, Mac turned to his team. "Okay. This should do for starters. It'll get us in for sure and in all likelihood it'll even get us out."

"In all likelihood? Mac, are you sure about this?" Nikki asked with concern.

"No, not a hundred percent sure. But like my Grandpa Harry used to say, only a fool is ever sure of anything. A wise man just keeps on guessing." As he completed this quote, Mac's lips pulled into a boyish grin. _Nikki hates it when I say stuff like that. Messes with her sense of organization, I think._

"A wise man just keeps on guessing," Carpenter muttered under her breath. Then, groaning slightly, she aimed a pleading look in Thornton's direction. "Pete?"

Extending his arms, Pete smiled happily. "What can I say? He's got that look; and if there's one thing I've learned through the years, it's that you just don't fight that look."

Sighing with resignation, Carpenter returned her attention to MacGyver. "Alright. I won't argue the point, but will you at least tell me what you have in mind?"

"You got it," Mac replied. "But not here. Let's get this stuff loaded into Murdoc's van and then head out toward the consulate. There's a dirt road not far from there where we can park the command unit. Once we've set up shop, I'll explain everything."

"Well, then what are we waiting for?" Jack cried with enthusiasm. "Let's get this show on the road."


	13. Chapter 13: Escape! (Part 1)

Chapter 13: . . . Escape! (Part One)

_Through the years, I've found that 'should work' and 'will work' are two very different things. For instance, my plan of escape should work, but whether or not it actually will, well, now that's another story. In a purely theoretic sense, of course, it is basically sound - more or less. The principle is based on a fundamental understanding of hydraulic cylinders. Simply put, hydraulic power is the art of displacement; the movement of a body of liquid from one reservoir to another. When housed in a cylinder, the rate at which this exchange takes place is determined by an internal valve. Adjustment of this valve is fairly easy and can be accomplished by either tightening or loosening an external gear head. Turn the head clockwise and the displacement slows down, turn the head counter-clockwise and the displacement speeds up. On gears such as this, even a minor adjustment of five degrees or so can have a dramatic effect. Of course, since I like to err on the side of caution, I cranked these knobs a great deal more than five degrees. So, if I were to guess, I'd say that they should be moving fluid at about the pace of a one legged turtle._

From his position on the floor, Sam watched the door carefully. Assuming that his plan worked, the hydraulic locks should remain unsecured for several seconds after being engaged by the guards. Of course, though this was the desired result, if it worked, its success could potentially bring about a whole new set of problems . . . like how Neilson would react to having his fancy triple lock tampered with.

_For the record, waiting around to see when or if a plan is going to explode in your face can be tedious. It can also be a bit unnerving. Your emotions kinda' get hung between feelings of hope and dread. As of right now though, I gotta admit, things are looking pretty good. After all, it's been about eight seconds now and so far my quiet cell is still, well, quiet. That's got to be a good sign right? I mean, surely if there was going to be trouble I would have heard about it by now. Besides, the Colonel was pretty far away and those guards looked like they were more brawn than brains - with any luck they probably didn't even catch the locks' sluggish response. Unless of course there was simply no sluggish response to catch - in which case my plan is a flop and I'm in big trouble._

Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Sam cautiously rose and slid toward the door. Then, pressing his ear onto an infinitesimal crack, he listened for some sign of life. Hearing none, the young man breathed a sigh of relief. So far so good.

_Okay, so now the question is, how do you open an unlocked seventy five pound concrete door with no handle?_

As his first attempt to solve this problem, Sam tried clawing at the door's edge. Though he'd hoped this maneuver would give him at least a little leverage, the results were disappointing. With the tight, flush fit of the door, even his best effort proved quite useless. Dropping onto his knees, therefore, Sam opted for a more scientific approach.

"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction . . ." he quoted with a smile. Then, with this rule as his inspiration, Sam deftly formed one hand into a fist and gave the door a quick blow. In response to this jolt the previously immovable object jarred a fraction out of place. _Yes!_ Pulling back his hand in an 'Oh yeah' kind of fashion, the young man then grinned broadly. Exciting as this victory was, however, he forced himself to sit back once again and wait. After all, opening the door was, but the first step. Getting past whatever might lay ahead would be the tricky part. Especially since 'whatever' could be a lot closer than he cared to admit.

_Unfortunately, there is a strong chance that either one or both of those muscle men may have been left to guard my cell. If that's the case, then my latest activity could bring about a bit of a hazardous situation . . . hazardous for me that is, I'm sure they'll be just fine._

XXXXXXX

The Phoenix command unit and Murdoc's van stood just out of sight on a deserted dirt road. As Mac had hoped, this location placed them in an excellent tactical position. Set on a small hill, mere yards from the consulate, it offered them a bird's eye view of the target facility, while at the same time supplying the team with a swath of trees as a shield against detection. After taking a few minutes to familiarize themselves with the guards patrol routine, everyone then gathered around to hear the details of their leader's plan. A quarter hour later, when the final step had been explained, Mac paused.

"Well," he prompted. "That's just about it. Whatd'ya think?"

"Mac, I think its great," Thornton enthused. "Perfect."

"I'll go along with that," Willis agreed rubbing his chin. "Looks pretty air tight to me."

"Me too," Jack chimed in. "It's brilliant Mac m'boy, positively brilliant. I think you've got the makin's of a real classic here. A real MacGyver special. A dash of duct tape, a smattering of aeronautics, and a twist of electronic wizardry, all topped with a bit of a Grecian flare . . ."

"You make it sound like a salad," declared Mac with distaste.

In response to this observation, Jack couldn't help, but chuckle. "Yeah, I guess I did at that. But seriously amigo, I do think it's brilliant. You've really got something here."

Though MacGyver acknowledged these remarks gratefully, he found himself growing a bit uneasy. So he had something - great - but was it enough? To answer this question Mac turned to Carpenter. She had yet to voice an opinion on the matter and some how her silence bothered him. This was one time when he felt in need of her approval and her support.

_Seems kinda' ridiculous after all the times I've over ruled her in the past, but this is important. Maybe too important for a plan held together by nothing more than spare parts and a prayer . . . I don't know, but one thing's for sure - if this idea of mine isn't good enough, Nikki'll be the one to tell me._

"Nikki? What do you think?" As he spoke, Mac felt his stomach flip. What if she agreed with his mounting inhibitions, agreed that the plan wasn't good enough . . . what would happen then? Plan B would happen then. Of course the only problem with plan B, was that at the moment it didn't exist. Suppressing a groan, Mac anxiously awaited Carpenter's verdict. As he watched, the stern, thoughtful look which decorated her face increased slightly and she seemed to be on the verge of responding. At last she spoke.

"I think it's insane, reckless and completely unorthodox," Nikki declared hotly. The fire in her voice soon subsided, though, and a wry, playful smile warmed her lips. "In short, I think it's pure MacGyver and . . . I can't believe I'm saying this . . . but I love it - let's go for it."

Mac had barely managed to process these unexpected, yet very welcome words, when Murdoc leapt into the conversation. "I do hate to be a kill joy," he interjected, "but may I say something?"

Indulgently, MacGyver rolled his attention to the assassin. "What is it Murdoc?"

"Simply this: breaking into a highly secure facility surrounded by guards with automatic weapons, without so much as one lethal instrument at your disposal is positively irrational," he observed. "I would quote you the odds for our chances of survival, but I don't want to depress myself."

Mac smiled blandly. "I take it, you don't like my plan."

Cresting his eyebrows in an irritated fashion, Murdoc smirked. "Oh, quite the contrary. I think your plan is most ingenious . . . it's simply your choice of equipment that I find lacking."

An amused look tainted with a hint of pride, canvased Mac's face. "Now there's an objection I think I can live with." When Murdoc dignified this reply with a snort, Mac couldn't help but grin. Then moving swiftly on, he brought the briefing to a close. " Alright guys, let's load up!"

XXXXXXX

Having indulged in several seconds of cautious waiting, Sam now felt reasonably sure that the coast was clear - temporarily anyway. So, acting on this belief, he slowly pulled the cell door open. Then, standing to his feet, the young man exited his prison. Moving into the larger room, he found that all of the lights had been extinguished and that the entire area now felt rather hollow. Though he could hardly complain about finding himself alone, the emptiness of the atmosphere did make him feel a little antsy. Forcing these irrational concerns to the side, Sam continued farther into the room. Since he hadn't noticed any visible exit from this cavern earlier, a little investigating became the next order of business. Maneuvering about the empty space, he soon discovered that the area was even more uninspiring than he'd previously thought.

_Concrete, cinder blocks, cement, and more concrete. Depressingly solid and all very gray. Aesthetics is_ _not the Colonel's long suit._

XXXXXXX

As planned, it was Willis who initiated the first phase of the rescue operation. Though it was admittedly a rather off-the-wall kind of start, the scientist set about his task without the slightest hesitation. Standing just outside the command unit, he tested the wind carefully and then, per Mac's instructions, proceeded to launch the toy airplane. Once the craft was in the air, he began taking it through several manipulations, including loop-de-loops and dives. It had been years since he'd operated a model like this and, regardless of the circumstances, he couldn't help, but enjoy himself - just a little. In the end, a broad, expanding smile managed to break through his wall of professionalism and he found himself on the verge of giggling. Despite this reverie, however, Willis never forgot his true mission. After only a few minutes of air time, he quickly began aligning the craft for its intended purpose. When the desired angle and distance had at last been achieved, he calmly prepared for the grand finale.

The resulting crash was dramatic - filled with dips and flips, and appropriately followed by an impressive shower of sparks. Having thus completed his task, Willis retreated with an impish like scamper back to the command unit. Once inside, a mask of severity befell his face. "Mission accomplished, sir," he announced with a military flare. "Power lines have been struck."

"Great," Pete answered. "Now, for a preliminary radio check." Placing the radio's combination earphone-mouthpiece onto his head, Thornton readied himself for the first transmission. Feeling the control box beneath his right hand, he then smoothly directed his digits to the far left toggle switch. After engaging this element, Pete began to speak. "Command to Rover One, test one, two, three. Please respond if you copy."

"Loud and clear Pete - ya' sound great!"

Grinning at MacGyver's purposefully relaxed radio procedure, Pete acknowledged the response. "Copy Rover One . . ." Traveling down the line, he then repeated this same test with Rovers Two, Three, and Four operated by Murdoc, Jack, and Nikki respectively. The responses varied from patronizing to comical to professional and left Thornton shaking his head in disbelief. How could such a group of opposites ever have gotten together in the first place? Dismissing this question with a shrug of his shoulders, Pete then advanced to the next step. Running the length of the controls with his index finger, he engaged all four transmitters. "Command to all units," he began. "Radio tests are complete - all units are on air. Phase one has been completed - power lines are compromised. Repeat power lines are compromised. Operation Rescue is now underway. Rovers Three and Four, prepare to move in."

XXXXXXX

When a walk about the edge of the outer prison walls yielded no results, Sam began considering other possibilities. Since he believed himself to be underground, the most likely place for an exit, aside from the area he'd already covered of course, seemed to be the ceiling.

"Okay, so if I were a trap door, where would I be. . ." Sam mumbled. Then, craning his neck backwards, the young man began roving through the dark upper shadows for some sign of hope.

XXXXXXX

Clad in the blue coveralls which Mac had scrounged, Rovers Three and Four sat in the front seat of Murdoc's van. They had just finished loading up the vehicle and were now preparing to make their entrance. Throwing a quick look over her shoulder, Nikki made one final check of their equipment - two large wooden spools of wire, duct tape and the tool box.

"We all set gorgeous?" Dalton asked drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Yes. And don't call me gorgeous."

Jack's mustache curled mischievously. "Whatever you say, beautiful. Here we go."

Driving in his most casual manner, Jack then eased the van onto the main road and pulled toward the consulate. When they reached the front gate, he brought the unit to a halt. Unwrapping a handy piece of gum, he then exited, smacking furiously and clutching a note-ridden clipboard he'd borrowed from Willis. Close behind him, Nikki hastened to follow suit.

"Yep, there she is," Jack declared loudly in an undefinable accent. "Those lousy kids, what do they think this world is - a landing strip or somethin'?"

On the other side of the consulate gate, a guard, equipped with quite a sizable weapon, eyed the pair suspiciously.

Catching the inquiring gaze, Jack ambled forward pleasantly. "Howdy there," he rambled with a fast paced tongue. "Name's Fraiser. Jack Fraiser and this here is my partner Nikki Samboleni. We're with the Department of Water, Power, Lights, and Sewage - or WPLS for short. Mind if we come in?"

"Yes."

Dalton's face fell visibly at this stolid rebuff and he wandered a bit closer. "No, I don't think you understand. You see we _need_ to come in. It's very, very important. I mean, we're talking life and death kinda' stuff here!" Even though the pilot inflected this observation with an appropriately ominous tone, the guard remained impassive. Unwilling to give up, Jack stubbornly tried again. "Of course, I can see what a cautious man you are, so let me put this another way . . ." When 'another way' failed to come leaping to mind, Dalton opted for a different approach. "Alright, scratch that. Um, tell you what, how 'bout if I just show you what I'm talking about, huh? Oh yes, I can see by your face that that will be much better. Okay, now if you'll just look over yonder at that power pole down there you'll see what I'm talkin' about." With one hand, Jack then pointed toward the entwined air craft. Almost as if on cue, the plane erupted in another flurry of sparks and began to smoke. When the guard seemed slightly affected by this opportune display of fireworks, Jack was quick to press his advantage. "_That_ -" he announced importantly, "is what we professionals call a hazardous situation. A veritable mass of impending doom!" After allowing a pause for emphasis, Dalton then continued. "Now, Samboleni and I _can_ de-hazardize this entire situation for ya', but _only_ if you let us in."

"Wait here," the guard announced. Retreating into the compound, he then approached a uniformed figure and began regaling him with what appeared to be a rather lengthy explanation.

Since both parties concerned were speaking entirely in German, Jack found himself unable to determine just how well - or unwell - things were going. "How'd I do?" he whispered to his partner, longing for a bit of reassurance.

"You're amazing," Nikki mumbled tightly. "But really, Jack - Samboleni? Where the heck did you come up with a name like that?"

"It was my long lost grandfather's name on my mother's cousin's side twice removed. Great family - full of lovely people. Just like you." Turning on his most ingratiating smile, Jack then popped his eyebrows a few times.

"Uh-huh," Carpenter responded unimpressed. "No offense intended, but I'd just as soon have been Jones or Smith."

At this juncture, the guard and the man with whom he had been speaking, began moving towards the gate. Taking note of this motion, Dalton quickly sobered his face. "Well, this is it Jonesy," he murmured taking in a breath. "Let's hope they bought it."

XXXXXXX

Down in his subterranean enclosure, Sam had at last made some progress. He'd found what appeared to be a three by three trap door in the ceiling. The only problem was, how to reach it. Like the private holding area from before, this room stretched a good fifteen feet top to bottom - not exactly easy access for a man who was all of around five ten.

_Okay so fifteen feet minus five feet ten inches equals nine feet two inches. Well that's not so bad - could certainly be worse . . ._

XXXXXXX

In order to stave off - as Dalton had put it - the 'impending doom' which the smoking toy airplane represented, both the guard and his superior agreed to allow them entrance into the consulate. Of course, as Nikki was quick to point out, Jack's swift tongue was not solely responsible for this victory. According to the officer in charge, the consulate's resident diplomat was out of town for the day; had 'his Excellency' been on the premises, the stringent security measures would not have been so easily set aside - hazardous situation or not. As it was, however, the need for clearance papers, was graciously disallowed and only the standard requirement of a general search was upheld. When this exercise yielded nothing objectionable, the pair was then allowed full access to the consulate grounds.

Once inside, Jack wasted no time in getting the unit into position. As planned, the compromised wires were strategically located near the side entrance of the consulate; thereby making it possible for the "repairmen" to pull in close to this area without arousing suspicion. Angling the van so that its rear doors faced the target zone, Jack then engaged the breaks.

Meanwhile, Nikki surreptitious retrieved both her and Jack's radio transmitters from within the van's cup holder. This receptacle had apparently been used by its previous owner, not to hold his drink, but to house his loose change - nine dollars and eighty-three cents to be exact. The presence of this coinage, in turn had made the holder an ideal hiding place for the two quarter sized transmitters. The accompanying earpieces had also been buried amongst the change, despite the fact that, unlike their counterparts, they were entirely too small to pass as any form of money. Thankfully, however, all parts concerned managed to evade the guard's detection.

Handing both pieces of Rover Three off to her compatriot, Nikki then clipped the small coin sized Rover Four 'bug' beneath the collar of her coveralls while simultaneously slipping the receiver into her ear.

Jack followed her lead and then ran a quick test. "Command, you still there?"

"Copy you loud and clear Rover Three. What is your location?"

"Have assumed position adjacent to the side entry door," Carpenter provided.

"Excellent. How's it look?"

"Like bugs to a light, Command. We've attracted a lot of attention," Dalton answered honestly.

"Received Rover Three. One and Two will be instructed to remain out of sight until scene is secure."

"Copy Command, over and out."

"Well," Nikki sighed. "I guess that means its time for us to get to work."

"I reckon so, my lovely. What'll you have? Duct tape or overload?" Jack questioned leaning towards her.

"Overload."

Nodding receipt of this decision, Dalton unlatched his door and winked. "See ya' in a bit, Jonesy." With that, the pilot then baled out of his side of the van. His mission - take out the motion detectors. Step one? Retrieve duct tape. Then, once the proper equipment had been obtained it became a simple matter of cut and paste (or more appropriately cut and tape). As he went in search of his first tape victim, however, Jack found himself falling under a great deal of scrutiny. In particular, three guards, whom he quickly christened Tom, Dick and Harry, wasted no time in appointing themselves his personal watch dogs. Shadowing his every move, they remained alert at all times and gave the distinct impression that they would pummel him without the slightest compunction if he so much as sneezed in their direction. Acknowledging their presence with his most congenial smile, Jack then forced a laugh and proceeded about his business. As he approached the consulate's side wall, he tried to exude a sense of calm, professional composure . . . as though this was something he did every day. In a trained manner he then looked towards the still entangled air plane, raised his right thumb and squinted one eye. "Yep," he drawled at length. "Bulls-eye." Pulling off a five inch strip of duct tape, he turned once again to the consulate wall. With an air of determination, he then placed the adhesive on the surface with labored precision. Repeating this step, Jack placed an identical piece of tape over the first resulting in an "X" shape. Conspicuously, the center of this 'X' just happened to be the location of motion detector eye number one. "Ah-hah. How the mighty art taped. Now that's what I call progress," he chattered to himself.

The guard who had been dubbed 'Harry', however was not so impressed. Whether or not he knew the true purpose of Dalton's handiwork was not clear, but he certainly appeared less than enthusiastic about something. "What are you doing?" he demanded in a heavily accented voice.

"What am _I_ doing?" Jack repeated as if seeking clarification. When a stiff nod answered this question, Dalton cleared his throat importantly. "Do you know anything about electric circuits?" When Harry and his friends all shook their heads 'no', the pilot offered a broad grin. "Good," he muttered through clenched teeth. Then raising his voice back to an audible level he proceeded to deliver the Dalton-crash-course-on-all-things-electrical lecture . . . eye twitching madly.

XXXXXXX

As soon as Jack was well on his conning way, Nikki also exited the van. Stopping by the rear of the vehicle, she then retrieved the tool box from inside and boldly approached one of the guards. "Excuse me, but I'm going to need to see your breaker box as well as your main back up power generator. Could you show me where they are please?" Accompanying this request with a flutter of her eyelashes, Carpenter smiled engagingly at the young officer. With amusement she watched as a soft red glow worked its way up his neck and he seemed to fumble for a response.

"Y-yes, fraulein," he stammered. "Follow me." Crossing to the side door, he then paused by the security key pad.

_Nine - one - nine - four_. . . Nikki rehearsed as she watched the young man's fingers move across the panel. When he again turned in her direction, though she lost the tight look of concentration and flashed another blinding smile. In response, a new flow of crimson found its way up the guard's neck and he hastened to open the door.

Once they entered the consulate, Nikki quickly began to assess her new surroundings. The sum total of what she saw was a semi-wide hallway about twenty feet long with several closed doors decorating both sides. A state of the art security camera was also mounted in one corner. Ignoring this prying eye, Nikki instead focused on the various doorways, going through a mental checklist to determine which, if any, of these rooms might be Sam's holding place.

_No extraneous locks, no light beneath the doorways, no inordinately tight seals, and no noises of any kind. Okay so out of twenty-two rooms scratch off four possibles._

By the time she came to this conclusion, the end of the hall had been reached. The room which she and her guide then entered, proved to be a sort of large reception area. Fashioned in the shape of a oval, the space served as host to five different archways along with the grand staircase. Able to steal but a brief glimpse of the various off-shoots, Carpenter soon found herself being directed down a decidedly barren hallway – similar to the one from which she had just emerged. Discounting two more doorways as she traveled, Nikki then followed the guard through entrance number three.

_Bingo!_

XXXXXXX

". . . to maintain the connectivity of both the southern and northern polarization forces. By doing so this enables us to tap into the velocity of the structural mass, while conserving the integrity of the original circuit. Therefore, when taken as a whole, it becomes necessary to interconnect these elements based upon a mutual understanding of their origins, which in turn requires these areas of interest to be clearly marked and accessible - hence the duct tape. Otherwise the entire scenario will spell nothing but disaster, as it will cause us to lose all possible chance of reconnecting the power source to its intended hook up." Flexing his tongue after this short bout of rapid fire technobabble, Jack then inhaled a much needed breath. With one hand he also slapped at his still twitching eye and took a moment to consider his audience. Happily, he found their faces to be blank masses of bewilderment. Apparently his barrage of Dalton-logic had had the desired effect: total confusion.

_Like I always say, when in doubt talk fast. Works every time._

"Does that answer your question?" Jack asked striving to maintain a profound expression. When silence met his ears, he smiled inwardly. Then, placing a reassuring hand on Dick's shoulder, he spoke once more. "I know, it leaves me speechless, too sometimes. But don't worry, Samboleni and I are professionals. We're gonna' do this right, just you wait and see. We're gonna' have your circuits up and circuiting within the hour." Grinning broadly, he then returned to his work.

XXXXXXX

Back in his hole, Sam finally met with a stroke of luck. The pipes which provided water to the cell's bathroom had their origin in the larger outer room. Though they came through the wall at floor level, they quickly rose upward, stopping about a foot and a half shy of the ceiling. From that point on, the pipes ran parallel to the ground in a sort of maze that stretched from one end of the room to the other. At the farthest end, one pipe in particular traced a path not two feet from the elusive trap door.

_Alright, so now all I have to do is reach that pipe, open the door and climb outta here. Let's see, I was down to needing a nine foot two inch something in order to reach the exit, but with that pipe hanging down roughly a foot and six inches, now all I need is a seven foot eight inch something. The odds of escape are getting shorter all the time!_

XXXXXXX

When Nikki entered the somewhat barren room and had her 'eureka' moment, it was all she could do to keep from gasping with excitement. There before her eyes were two doorways. Though the first one was painfully average, the second one was different. So different in fact, that it caused all of her 'deductive reasoning' alarms to sound almost simultaneously. It met all of the prerequisites you might expect from a private holding cell. The entrance was secured by a slide and lock dead bolt, an electronic keypad and two heavily armed men. And, if her memory served her correctly, according to the blueprints that door also just happened to be the entrance to the consulate basement.

_What an ideal place to incarcerate someone that you never wanted to be found again. The only traffic you'd have to worry about would be various members of the security staff and, from the look of things, I don't think that wouldn't be much of a problem. I say this, because of the guards I've seen so far, most of them look awfully familiar. Flashbacks of various fliers I received in Europe regarding rogue ex-intelligence officers keep leaping to mind. Just the sort of characters an organization like K-Inc would be liable to hire. If these men are who I believe them to be, then Killing Incorporated may very well have infiltrated this consulate's entire security staff._

As Nikki mulled over this bit of reasoning, her guide motioned her forward. Holding open the painfully average door, he then indicated that she should enter. Obediently, Carpenter slipped past him and began mounting the stairs which immediately presented themselves. At the top of this short flight of steps, she found an impressive pair of double doors each dressed with its own barred window. Peering inside, she found a wall littered with a variety of computer and video monitors, along with a desk that was equally cluttered with electronic devices. Hidden amid all of this technology were also two rather bored looking men as well as a platter that had apparently held their lunch.

"I will get the officer in charge to let us in," the guard announced. "These doors can only be opened from the inside."

Nikki smiled innocently and nodded. "Thank you _so_ much."

XXXXXXX

Outside, Dalton's project was finally complete. All of the motion detectors in the immediate area had successfully been covered and a few other 'X's had been scattered about for the purpose of distraction. Now it became necessary to repeat this bit of wallpapering inside the consulate. The only question was, how to get in. The solution? Tom, Dick and Harry of course.

"Okay, kids. That just about does it," Dalton declared. "Now, if one of you boys could just take me inside, I need to exchange a few notes with my partner before moving on to the next step."

The three guards traded brief and slightly somber looks, before one of them finally spoke.

"I shall escort you, Herr Fraiser," Tom advised curtly. "Come with me."

Jack smiled his appreciation and fell in behind his new guide. _Ha! Now I get to follow you around for a change._

XXXXXXX

_You know, how you look at things is all relative. For instance, when I first woke up in this dungeon, I was cold - or at least I thought I was. Now of course, I'm beginning to realize that it really wasn't that bad after all . . ._

Being left with literally nothing but the shirt on his back, Sam found himself forced to take drastic measures; and since his clothes were the only resource currently at his disposal, they also became his leading asset. The button down flannel shirt was the first to go followed shortly by his pair of blue jeans. Linked together these bits formed a rather peculiar looking rope that managed to reach just about the right length – roughly nine feet in total, knots and all. Thankfully, Sam tended to dress in layers like his father, so while his current, reduced state of attire was a bit chillier, he still managed to remain quite decently clothed. Now the only problem was how to secure his newly fashioned rope to the pipe overhead.

_Aside from teaching me about the importance of duct tape, Dad has also managed to instill in me a high opinion of shoes. Invaluable things shoes. Dad particularly likes the ones with laces. I've always been more of a boot man myself and as it turns out I guess that's a good thing. If I'd come in here wearing sneakers, Neilson might have confiscated them along with the pair of shoelaces I had in my pocket. I guess he failed to see the usefulness and adaptability of boots. Not that I'm complaining mind you, but that really shows a lack of vision._

Slipping off his right boot, Sam then attached this final link to his rope. Eying his newly made contraption with pride, he held it at arms length for a more thorough examination.

_Alright. One rope and grappling boot now ready for service . . ._

XXXXXXX

Inside the control room Nikki, found herself given free rein to do whatever she liked. The two guards she'd seen from the small doorway window appeared even more bored in person than they had from a far. Not even the presence of a woman managed to spark their interest and they remained completely non plussed by the whole event. Deciding to make the most of this complacent attitude, Nikki quickly set about her work. Her first task was to gain access to the wires which controlled the security cameras. Locating their concealing panel at the far side of the room, she removed it swiftly and lowered it to the floor. Since all of the labels were in German - and Nikki's knowledge of that tongue had unfortunately fallen into disuse - it became necessary to do a bit comparison. Matching the meaningless words on the wire labels with the equally meaningless words tagging the security monitors, she was soon able to isolate the desired feeds. Originally, their plan had called for a kind of floating tap that would allow Willis to access any of the facility's twenty-five cameras at his own discretion. This arrangement had seemed logical since Sam's exact location had previously been undetermined. Now that she was fairly certain where the young man was being held, however, the need for this more complicated set up no longer existed. Making an executive decision, Nikki selected only those angles which covered the path from the side door to the control room. With the desired feeds thus pinpointed, she then prepared to attach the tapping equipment. As soon as this step was completed, all of the various wires were then connected to another one of Willis' gadgets - a small transmitter capable of relaying video images. Tucking this bit of technology out of sight behind a wad of cords, Nikki raised the antenna and flicked the transmit switch. When the device's green light began blinking agreeably, a look of satisfaction creased her face. Replacing the cover panel, she then moved on to her next task . . . a subtle job of sabotage.

XXXXXXX

In the Phoenix Command unit, Willis' camera monitor suddenly came to life. The images were grainy at first, but within a matter seconds they fell into perfect focus. "Tell Rover One that we're receiving a video feed from inside," the scientist called to Pete. Even as he spoke, though, he noticed Nikki's alterations. "Um . . . that's strange I'm only receiving signal from five of the cameras. Looks like we have coverage of the side door and the first hallway. Then there is some sort of large open area, like an entry way, another hall and then a room of sorts. Looks like there are two doors inside the room, one of which appears to be guarded. That's all we've got."

Pete listened to this report and ran a few possible explanations through his mind. Knowing Nikki's meticulous nature it was obvious that this change in plan was deliberate. Though he felt almost positive about the reasoning behind it, Thornton decided to verify his hunch before speaking with Mac. Of course enabling Carpenter to to confirm his bit of deduction might take some finagling. Given her current location, any verbal communication on her end was out of the question. Pressing his lips together, Thornton considered the situation carefully and then keyed Nikki's mike.

"Command to Rover Four. We are only receiving five video feeds. If this is intentional tap your transmitter once, if not tap twice."

A single blip of static met Pete's ear. Smiling, he then moved on to his next question. "We can see two guards stationed at a doorway in the final room on our screen. Is this where they are holding Sam?"

Again a single dot of static came across the air. Willis, who had been listening to this exchange with rapt attention felt his heart begin to pound. Situations like this were exactly the reason why he preferred lab work. Heavy waiting followed by an adrenaline rush like this was just not his thing. Pete on the other hand began to grin even more upon receipt of the affirmation.

"Command copies, Rover Four. Will relay information to Rover One." Switching the toggle positions, Thornton soon had Mac on the line.

"One here, Pete, whatcha got?"

"Mac I think we've found him!"


	14. Chapter 14: Escape! (Part 2)

Chapter Fourteen: . . . Escape! (Part Two)

_You know, the human body was never intended to be folded into small spaces. Especially if said human body plans on getting excited; 'cause when ya' get excited, well, things can just get a little outta hand. Like now for instance . . . here I am, crammed into a hiding place about the size of an extra large shoe box when I hear Pete say that he thinks they've found Sam. I get excited, forget where I am and get struck with some wild notion of leaping into action right then and there. Head, shoulder blades, knees - collisions. Yep, leaping was not such a good idea. We're talking major pain here!_

Hearing his friend's enthusiasm morph into a series of unhappy grunts, Thornton grew concerned. "Mac? Mac are you alright?"

"Yeah," the troubleshooter grumbled resettling himself.

"What happened?"

"I don't think they had me in mind when they built this thing, Pete," MacGyver replied evasively. The significance of these words was not lost upon his former boss, however, and soon the sound of muffled laughter began filtering through his earpiece. A look that displayed both irritation and embarrassment then crossed Mac's face as he listened to the reaction continue. "Pete . . ." he called drawing out the syllables.

"Yes Mac?"

MacGyver rolled his eyes at the innocence in the man's voice. "Pete . . ." he drawled again. "Sam, the rescue mission - remember? You were saying?"

"Oh, right Mac. Let me patch in Rover Two and then I'll give you a full run down on what we've got."

As soon as the assassin had been looped into the conversation, therefore Thornton proceeded to advise them of Nikki's findings.

XXXXXXX

_Thwack!_

Sam's boot hit the ground after an unsuccessful toss. As the rest of the rope crumpled beside it a sigh echoed through the empty space. Unfortunately this was not the first time he had met with this depressing result. The uneven weight and carriage of his creation was soon proving to be a rather difficult obstacle to overcome. Combined, these elements had managed to throw both his accuracy and his swinging power off by several degrees. Refusing to remain discouraged, Sam set about recoiling his contraption for yet another attempt. After a short wind up, he then released the boot with a hard flick.

_Thwack!_

Eyeballing the once more crumpled rope, Sam's shoulders fell just a fraction - not from disappointment, but from fatigue. His head still ached from being knocked unconscious and all of his recent activity seemed to be exacerbating the pain. Adding to this, was also the numerous bruises and sore muscles he had managed to discover during the past hour. Exactly where they had come from he was not sure, being a little fuzzy on the particulars, but he was reasonably convinced that he must have been involved in some sort of accident. The last time he'd felt like this was after he and his bike had survived their first close encounter with the pavement. At any rate, the combined effect of these many hurt places, was that he seemed to be lacking somewhat in stamina. Deciding, therefore that a short respite might be advisable, the young man wandered over to the closest wall and leaned back heavily. A moment later he found himself seated on the floor with his legs propped in front of him. As he tried to rest, Sam's mind soon filled with thoughts of his father.

_I wish Dad was here. No, let me rephrase that . . . I wish I was with Dad. Yes, it'd much better for me to be where ever he is – I'm sure of it. Man I miss him! Funny how things change. Used to be, I prided myself on my independence - my ability to take care of myself. I didn't have anyone and so I convinced myself that I really didn't need anyone - for anything. Finding Dad, though kinda knocked that whole 'me against the world' equation of mine out of whack. All of a sudden it wasn't just me anymore. Now it was me and Dad. The two of us. Working together, laughing together. Thinking, living, eating . . . everything together._

_So now, here I am, faced with a problem and, for the first time in my life, I find that I really don't like having to face it alone._

XXXXXXX

Knee deep in tools and elbow deep in wires, Nikki placed the final touches on her bit of sabotage. After giving it one last check, she engaged the timing device. _Fifteen minutes and counting. _Slipping the digital timer out of sight, she then worked to conceal the incriminating wires. Half way through this project, a harsh knock sounded on the control room door, shattering her concentration. Shrugging aside the 'hand in the cookie jar' feeling which suddenly possessed her, Nikki shot a cautious glance over one shoulder. To her relief, she found that the author of the knock was none other than Jack Dalton. He stood there smiling clownishly at her through the barred window and gestating with fervor. From these theatrics Carpenter managed to glean that he was coming in to see her. Smirking at the man's behavior and taking note of the scowling guard to his left, Nikki then returned to her work.

A moment later, Jack and his accompanist were admitted into the secure area. Then, after hinting that he could find his way across the room alone, the pilot managed to relieve himself of Tom's presence before crossing to Nikki's side. Kneeling down, he leaned in close. "I need a tape measure."

Nikki, who had been expecting some important update on their mission, blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I need a tape measure," Jack repeated looking very much like a child asking for a new toy. "Pretty please?"

"Oh for goodness sake," Carpenter murmured. "There's one in the tool box. Be my guest."

Jack grinned at this response and began rummaging through the chest. With the resulting clank of moving instruments to cover his voice, he then moved on to other matters. "So, how's it going?"

Before answering, Carpenter made a quick assessment of room's other occupants and their current locations. The two security officers were once again seated at their desks - oblivious to the world - while Tom and her own guide were engaged in some sort of private conversation in front of the double doors. As both of these positions were conveniently situated at the opposite end of the room, she ventured a hushed reply. "Fine. Taps are in place and sending. Overload one is set and ready to go in exactly . . ." lifting her wrist Carpenter consulted with her watch. "Fourteen minutes and thirty nine seconds. How about you?"

"Aha! Got the rascal now," he declared loudly, producing the desired tape measure. Then, assuming a much quieter tone, he continued. "Outside we're invisible, inside, not so much. Did you notice the triple security on that door across the hall?"

"Yes. Sam's got to be in there. I'd stake my life on it."

"Not so loud or you might just get to do that," Jack warned, dropping his own voice several decibels.

Sounds of what could best be described as an argument then rose from across the room, attracting Nikki and Jack's attention. Apparently the conversation between Tom and his countryman had taken an unhappy turn. Curious as to what the disagreement might be about, the Phoenix team tried their best to eavesdrop. Their efforts soon proved futile, however, as those speaking were conversing entirely in German.

"Words, words, everywhere and not a soul to translate," the pilot muttered. "Next time I hop on for a mission like this, I want subtitles."

Nikki grunted softly. "I've certainly learned my lesson. Never again, will I shun the German tongue to focus on French and Italian."

Jack smiled at this comment and patted her hand. "Don't worry Jonesy, we'll live. And speaking of living, I guess it's time for me to get back to work. I know the pattern for the motion sensors that cover the path from the side door to that spot across the hall. I'll have 'em duck taped in no time flat."

"Good. I've still got to set up the second overload device and remove these five security cameras from the back up generator's supply route. Once that's done, everything will be in place."

"Ten to the four," Dalton declared enthusiastically. "What time have you got?"

"Thirteen minutes fifty seven seconds."

"Copy that," Jack mocked in his best covert operations voice. "Well, I'm off to tape the yellow brick road. Catch you on the flip side." Slinging an exaggerated salute he then rose and trotted to the door.

XXXXXXX

". . . We haven't had visual contact, you understand," Pete summarized, "but the circumstantial evidence is strong."

"You've got me convinced. So when can we move in?" Mac asked, impatience apparent in his tone.

"As soon as Rover Three or Four gives us the go ahead. They still haven't finished all of the preparations yet. I'll let you know the minute I hear something."

Mac stifled a sigh and rubbed a thumb and index finger across his forehead. It had already been such a long time, what if they were too late? "Pete, I want to get him out of there." As the words escaped his lips, Macgyver swallowed convulsively. That old sensation of loss was beginning to toy with his insides again. He couldn't lose Sam, he just couldn't.

Thornton detected the desperateness of his friend's voice and for a moment he was unable to respond. At last, however, the words came. "Mac, listen to me," he commanded. "We're going to get Sam out of there - we are. Trust me. It's just going to take a little more time."

_Time._ Mac's head started to roll back in a show of strained patience, but a solid thump soon stopped him. _Darned hiding place._ Depressing the transmit key, he then forced a reply. "I know, Pete, I know. I'm just a little tired of being wadded up like this. That's all. Let me know as soon as you hear something."

"Oh yes, Peter, please do," Murdoc agreed heartily. "You know, I don't exactly fit well in this Trojan horse of yours either, MacGyver. Thanks to you I'm going numb in places I didn't even know I had."

This unexpected comment brought a smile to Mac's concerned face. "Chafe, Murdoc," he responded with a hint of amusement.

"Chafe," the assassin muttered. "Indeed."

XXXXXXX

Still seated on the floor, Sam rubbed at a few strained muscles and gradually let his eyes fall closed. He could feel himself being seduced by the prospect of once again yielding to unconsciousness. The world of oblivion with its promise of no pain, no pipes, and no misbehaving grappling hooks was more than a little enticing. But he had come so far. He couldn't just surrender now. Thus determined, Sam gave himself a firm shake. His head groaned in protest, but the young man had made up his mind. "If at first you don't succeed," he chanted and hauled himself to his feet. Rewinding the grappling hook he then marched back to his target. "Try, try, try . . ." Mumbling through a few more tries, Sam launched the boot. This time it brushed the pipe overhead, before again careening to the floor. "Try, try, try . . ." he rehearsed and bent to recoil his rope. Rising with a humph he then finished off his now innumerable list of tries with a definite, "Again!"

XXXXXXX

"Pardon me, Herr Fraiser, but is that necessary?"

Jack looked up from his work and eyed the guard who was once again hot on his trail. Clearing his throat, Dalton then surveyed the multitude of 'X's he had plastered about. They meandered in a somewhat orderly fashion from the control room, around the oval reception area and then down the hallway. Everything was almost in place. Now was not the time for matters to fall apart. Putting on his most serious face, therefore Jack summoned all of his powers of con and persuasion to resolve the man's doubts. "Is this necessary?" he asked with of hint of incredulity. "Is air necessary for life? Why this is the most crucial part of the entire operation. But don't you worry, this is the last piece. With this 'X' in place the boundaries of our circuit will be defined per the WPLS manual." Though Tom's mouth opened at this point as if to make a comment, Jack held up his index finger with a snap. "See manual chapter eighteen, subsection C, paragraph 2, article 9," Dalton completed with a smile. Then relying on this web of seeming professionalism to curb Tom's suspicion, he pressed the final strip of duct tape into place. "There. All done. Now . . . " Leaving this sentence hanging, the pilot strode off abruptly in the direction of the door.

"Herr Fraiser - where are you going?"

"Moving on to bigger and better things, my friend," he announced effusively. "Wires, it's time for wires."

"Wires?"

"But definitely," Dalton confirmed as he reached the side entry door. Pulling it open with gusto he then waited expectantly. "Coming?"

Tom considered the offer for a moment, but shook his head. "No, Herr Fraiser. I have other matters to attend to. My associates will see to your needs." With this comment and a gesture indicating the waiting forms of Harry and Dick, the guard made his exit.

As Jack watched his shadow's retreating form, a peculiar feeling began to gnaw at his gut. If his instincts were correct, then Tom's hint of doubt was about to flower into a beautiful bloom of suspicion. Keeping his back to the awaiting guards, Dalton depressed his transmitter. Without waiting to be recognized, he then advised Pete of the situation in a hushed voice. "Command, this is Rover Three. Tell Nik to step it up, I think we're about to run out of time."

XXXXXXX

Sam's boot swung high and wrapped itself about the pipe. Momentum carried it around a total of three times until at last it fell still. Sam stared up at his victory in stunned silence. With bated breath he waited, half expecting the rope to suddenly let go and crumple once again to the floor. When this failed to occur after several seconds, though, he allowed himself to believe that it had actually worked. Tentatively he gave the rope a tug - it held. An aggressive sort of pull - it held. The weight of his full body - still it held.

A thread of muffled whoops and happy exclamations followed this bit of testing as the young man tried in vain to keep his excitement down to an inaudible level. Once a sufficient amount of enthusiasm had been released in this manner, Sam then prepared himself for the next step. Scaling the makeshift rope in mid air with his already protesting muscles was not going to be easy. This being the case, reason suggested that he allow himself a few minutes of rest before beginning the ascent. Eagerness refused to bow to logic, however, so after taking a deep breath and briefly flexing his fingers, Sam gripped the rope.

_Okay, here goes. One hand over the other. Nice 'n easy. So long as I don't look down, everything will be fine. Not that I mind heights, of course, that's Dad's hang up. I just don't think my head could take it right now. Last time I checked seeing the world spinning beneath you while clinging to a pair of jeans and a boot, does very little for a trauma induced headache._

XXXXXXX

Hastening out the door, Jack waved a jovial greeting to his new escorts and surveyed the immediate area. The crowd they had attracted earlier seemed to have dissipated somewhat, allowing the normal patrol routines to more or less resume. Though this was good, Dick, Harry and a few other faithfuls still remained to be dealt with. Time for a little improvisation. Humming a rather disorganized tune, Jack climbed into the back of the van. Utilizing the large industrial sized spools as drums he added a bit of percussion to his melody and then began uncoiling some of their tightly wound wire. When a suitable length had been reached, he cast his eyes about for an instrument with which to cut. Ad-libbing a few lyrics to the effect that he would give his kingdom for such an object, he then tapped a few more beats on the spool of wire.

_Rat, tat, tat._

Frozen, Dalton looked down at his hands. That series of taps had not been of his own making. "Mac!" he hissed. "Mac is that you?" _Silly question, who else would it be._ Another soft round of thumps answered this question and then the spool lid began to lift just a fraction. Dodging forward the pilot did his best to obstruct this unfolding phenomena from any outside prying eyes. A swish and a thunk later, Jack found Mac's Swiss Army Knife lying next to his feet. Giving the lid an affectionate pat, the pilot smiled broadly. "Ask and ye shall receive."

XXXXXXX

Seated at a rather elaborate desk, Colonel Kurt Neilson drummed his fingers testily. Staring at the solid oak door before him, he listened as the distorted voice of one of his security men drifted through barrier. Airplanes, electricians, vans . . . What was the fellow talking about, and why couldn't he ever seem to handle these trivial matters on his own? When the seemingly pointless memorandum at last reached its conclusion, Neilson sighed. His relief was short lived, however, when the man requested an audience to discuss the litany of idiocy even further. Sighing yet again, the Colonel surrendered to the inevitable. Motioning with an irritated hand he ordered one of his underlings to open the door.

Tom, Jack's missing shadow, lingered outside for a moment suddenly struck with a twinge of uncertainty. As he thought back on the matter, he had to admit that the talkative man with the ridiculous mustache had sounded fairly convincing, but no . . . better to err on the side of caution. Entering the room with a renewed sense of determination, therefore, the guard offered a crisp military greeting and waited to be recognized.

"What is it Khan?" Neilson demanded with pained exasperation.

"Colonel, I think we have a breech in security."

"A breech? What the devil are you talking about. This place is impenetrable."

"_Was_ impenetrable, Colonel."

"What do you mean 'was'? For goodness sake man, get to the point!"

"Very well, Colonel. It ceased to be impenetrable when Security One opened the main gate."

Upon hearing this announcement, Neilson's face whitened with anger. A large pulsating vein bulged at his temple and his jaw muscles worked incessantly. "They did what?"

The quiet deadly undertone of the query made, Khan's blood run cold. Perhaps telling his superior about this incident had not been a wise decision after all. Wetting his lips, the guard fumbled for a reply. When words failed to articulate themselves in his mind, though, he opted for a simple nod of the head.

Neilson received this confirmation and slowly stood to his feet. With menacing steps, he then circled his desk to stand an intimidating two feet from his officer. "Now," he began. "Tell me exactly what happened. Leave out nothing and this time, make it make sense."

XXXXXXX

Jack emerged from within the van, newly cut wire, tape measure, and clipboard in hand. Wandering toward the consulate's far corner, he then made a quick check of his peripheral vision. As expected, Dick, Harry and their small group of friends were following his every step. For their benefit, therefore the pilot indulged in a few seconds of what he hoped looked like painstaking location analysis. Then, once a random spot of ground had been selected in this manner, he uncurled his length of wire and turned to the awaiting entourage.

"You sir, may I have your assistance, please?"

When Harry, the guard of whom this request had been made, refused to react, Jack decided to take matters into his own hands. Reaching out, he clasped the man's arm and guided him forward.

"I do love a volunteer. Alright, now here - hold this." Placing the end of the wire into the guard's hand he then angled the subject so that his back was to the van. "Perfect. Now, whatever you do, don't move! It's _very_ important that you remain perfectly still. Any premature movement could cause an overload - do you understand?" A silent nod answered this query causing Jack to jump with agitation. "Don't move!" he corrected. "That's better, now the rest of you, come with me."

Continuing in this manner, Dalton managed to distribute the lingering guards along a neat little row. Each was given a portion of wire to hold, positioned with their back's to the van and ordered to, above all else, remain absolutely still. Consulting with his watch, Jack smiled. The timing was ideal. Nikki's timer would be going off in exactly twelve seconds.

XXXXXXX

"Command to Rovers One and Two."

"Go ahead Pete."

"Surge one is about to detonate. Ten seconds and counting. Prepare to move in."

A rush of adrenaline coursed through MacGyver's body. "Right, Pete. C'mon Murdoc. Let's go."

Slowly, both lids on the wooden spools began to lift. Fingertips were the first visible sign of their inhabitants, followed shortly by wrists and tufts of hair.

Seven seconds and counting.

Forearms could now be seen as well as two pairs of eyes. The optics looked about quickly, revealing to their owners that the coast was clear. Armed with this knowledge, the subjects' emergence began to hasten. Gingerly the lids were set aside and both men rose to as full a height as the van would allow.

Three seconds and counting.

Legs were now lifted and stretched, followed by the spool lids being carefully replaced. Thus freed from their hiding places, the troubleshooter and the assassin moved to the rear doors.

"Command to Rovers One and Two. Move in."

XXXXXXX

After a strenuous upward climb, Sam's hand at last connected with the overhead pipe. Heaving with strain and effort the young man tightened his grip on the lead fixture. Even as he did so the dim light which had been filtering in from his holding cell began to flicker. A moment later it died away completely. Still hanging in mid air, Sam took a moment to consider this apparent power outage. Then, struck by a wild and almost unbelievably wonderful notion, he began to smile. "Dad!" he murmured. "Gotta' be . . ."

XXXXXXX

Upstairs in Neilson's office, sunlight streamed in through the uncovered windows. The room was tastefully decorated and appeared quite lovely in the natural light. In front of the desk, Kahn still stood facing his superior. Having slipped back into his native tongue, the guard seemed to be trying his best to clearly describe the recent events.

A computer monitor sat on the desk, its screen turned away from the room's occupants. It displayed a half finished report that the Colonel had been working on prior to his untimely interruption. Suddenly the words of the report warped into a single horizontal line, re-expanded for a moment and then disappeared altogether.

Meanwhile, Kahn's explanation continued, absorbing all of Neilson's attention.

XXXXXXX

Instinctively Rovers One and Two fell into a pattern of advance, wait and follow. Mac took first lead. Dropping silently out the back of the van, he traversed the distance to the side door. Pressing himself inside the small alcove he then waited for Murdoc to follow. "Pete," he whispered into the mic.

"Go ahead Rover One."

"The door code, did Nikki get it?"

"Ten four. She just advised me of that ten eighteen. It's nine one nine four."

"Got it." As he acknowledged receipt of this information, Murdoc arrived at his side.

_Basically what we have happening so far is a temporary shut down of the consulate's power supply. The device Nikki hooked up inside is rigged to draw large amounts of power from any given source. In our case, that source is the standard 'wall-socket supply' if you will that runs the consulate. By attaching our juice drainer, we in essence ask the source to give us more power than it can provide. Normally, such a request would cause said system to more or less burn up, but the consulate is different. Thanks to some pretty fancy Phoenix safety features, this system simply says 'I can't do that for you' and shuts down. Neat, huh? Of course, you're probably wondering what the heck this has to do with anything. Well, I'll tell ya', according to Willis, any interruption to the consulate's power supply causes the place to go into lock down. The electric locks don't work and all the cameras and sensors and stuff go kaput. After ninety seconds, though the back up power generator automatically kicks in. Now, all of this accomplishes several things. Number one, it puts our unfriendlies in a receptive mood for unexplained malfunctioning equipment. If they already think there is something wrong with their power source a few messed up sensors or cameras won't attract that much attention. Number Two, it gives us the chance to decide exactly what does and does not get power around here. With Nikki tucked away in the control room, she can pretty much add or remove anything she likes from the back up generator's supply route – again, without attracting too much attention. And finally number three, it puts these guys at a general disadvantage. You see, if the power ever shuts down while they're operating on back up, then this place will again go into lock down. Only this time there won't be any automatic restart after ninety seconds. So if we play our cards right . . ._

"Five seconds."

Having been thoroughly lost in his mental rehearsal, Mac failed to comprehend Murdoc's words. "What?" he asked, seeking clarification.

Gripping Mac's wrist, the assassin indicated his watch. "Five seconds. Focus here, MacGyver."

"Oh, right, sorry Murdoc."

XXXXXXX

Still nestled in the control room, Carpenter witnessed the effects of her sabotage first hand. All of the security monitors went black as did the artificial lighting. Outcries of protest delivered in both English and German soon followed and three pairs of accusing eyes flew her way. The security personnel as well as the guard who had been her guide, moved slowly towards her in the now darkened room. Though her back was to them, Nikki sensed these movements instinctively. Deciding that it might be best to act proactively given the situation's current development, therefore, she did her best Dalton imitation - long on speed, short on truth. "Now _that's_ your problem," she announced emphatically, rising with a start. "Too much tension on your overhead power supply. That little airplane must have acted as a trigger. That's what all of that sparking out there was about. Apparently, Mr. Fraiser and I failed to get to the system in time so now the continual over exposure has sent the entire system into lock down. But don't worry, we can fix it . . . How long before your back up power generator engages?" Though she knew the answer to this question, it seemed unlikely that Nikki Samboleni would be expected to have this knowledge. Displaying a look of genuine concentration mixed with a touch of innocence, she calmly waited for a response. _Now if only these boys buy it . . .Come on, now, say that you believe me. Please?_


	15. Chapter 15: Escape! (Part 3)

Chapter Fifteen: . . . Escape! (Part Three)

Grunting with effort, Sam adjusted his position on the lead pipe. Now instead of hanging precariously in a doubled up sort of fashion he sat straddling the pipe in an even more unstable position. Interlocking his ankles and clamping down tightly with his thighs, the young man then tested his balance. Verdict? A tad wobbly, but nothing too terrible - so on to the next step. Reaching forward in the darkness, Sam investigated the area with his fingers. When they landed upon the still wrapped rope and boot, he smiled. With slow, steady movements he began to unwind his invention.

_Call me picky, but I have no intention of escaping out of here without my pants . . . or minus my other boot for that matter. It just doesn't sound like a good plan. Talk about being conspicuous._

Once the rope had been sufficiently freed, he then set about untying his blue jeans. Of course since the knots had been tightened by the full weight of a human body they were more than a little stiff. Settling in for the struggle, therefore, Sam allowed his mind to wander to other matters. Namely, how he was going to open the trap door.

_It didn't sound like such a problem when I was on the ground. Just climb up here, check out the lock, pick it if necessary and then bam - outta here._ _But now . . . how can I figure out how to open the thing if I can't even see it anymore?_

As if to answer this question, the previously extinguished light in his cell began to flicker. A moment later, it came roaring back to life.

XXXXXXX

In the Phoenix command unit, Willis checked his video monitors. The relay device he had supplied for the operation was supposed to possess the capability of becoming fully mobile and self sufficient. In essence, it was designed to become its own miniature generator when necessary. So, if the device worked properly as soon as the forced power outage took effect, it should assume the responsibility of supplying power to the selected cameras as well as continuing to relay their images.

"Did it work?" Pete asked, doubting the experimental technology's trustworthiness.

"It was a little shaky there for a second, but now the change over seems to be complete. The views are back up and sending."

"Good - how's the hallway look?"

"Clear on all counts so far," Willis reported. "I'll let you know if someone enters the field."

"Excellent." Depressing Mac's toggle switch, Thornton then delivered this update. "Command to Rover One. Hallways are clear. Make entry when ready."

XXXXXXX

MacGyver's hand hovered over the keypad. Exhaling a short breath he began entering the pass code. "Nine, one, nine, four," he murmured, silently praying that the combination would prove valid. When the lock clicked open, Mac smiled. "Alright." Throwing a happy look in Murdoc's direction he then tested the handle. It opened without a sound. Sliding through the entrance in an equally soundless fashion, the troubleshooter ducked into the closest corner and began scanning the area ahead.

Murdoc slipped through the door with the practiced air of a professional sneak thief and gingerly latched the handle behind him. Acknowledging his counterpart's strategic position he then advanced several feet down the hall. Leaning into a recessed doorway, he flattened himself into the aperture.

With the assassin thus settled, Mac made his next move. Striding down the hall, he passed Murdoc's location and arrived at the end of the passage way. A quick scan of the circular room and its various off-shoots was then performed. Willis' diagnosis quickly proved to be accurate - the coast was clear. A hiss and a wave of the hand followed, apprising Murdoc of the confirmed evaluation.

Crossing the hall in a single step, Rover Two glided in close to MacGyver. In hushed tones he then spoke. "I hate to bother you with details at a time like this, but have you thought about those two guards Peter mentioned?"

"Yeah," Mac replied easily. "What about 'em?"

"Well, I was just wondering what diabolically clever plan you may have devised to, shall we say, neutralize them . . . You do have a plan don't you?"

MacGyver shrugged in a 'kinda-sorta' fashion and once again scanned the space ahead. "Oh, you know. The usual thing."

"What - you going to take them down with a paper clip?"

Despite the obvious sarcasm, Mac found himself grinning at this ridiculous comment. "No, actually I was toying with the idea of using fishing line and duct tape," he returned softly. "But paperclips are good, too."

XXXXXXX

In the security chamber Nikki counted out the milliseconds as she waited for the guards to speak. Despite the fact that the electricity had been restored several moments earlier, thereby answering her question about the generator, somehow she still felt the need to wait. The dark, serious looks being leveled her way, seemed to have frozen her tongue and rooted her to the floor. At last, when she was beginning to feel more than a little desperate, her former guide finally spoke.

"As you can see the back up generator has already engaged. Is this a problem?"

Choking back a sigh of relief, Carpenter shook her head. "No, no, it's fine. In fact it's perfect. Now, I can analyze the power system's overall layout without risking the usual interference caused by unused circuits. Really it's quite beneficial - really." Moaning inwardly at how much like Jack Dalton she sounded, Nikki flashed her most convincing smile. "Well, back to work." Turning on her heel, she then retraced a path to the control panel. Selecting a tool who's intended purpose escaped her at the moment, she then set about 'fixing' a random bit of unbroken technology.

XXXXXXX

Having successfully detached his jeans, shirt and boot from one another, Sam considered for a moment how best to proceed. Opting for simple, he decided to put the shirt on first. Draping the jeans on the pipe and tucking the boot under his chin, he began shrugging into the flannel. Half way through this task, a brief unsteady totter caused the young man to pause. Extending his arms as far as the shirt he was almost wearing would allow, he then waited. When the wobbling ceased, he slowly completed his mission. Without bothering to straighten the flannel's bent collar, Sam moved onto his next problem. Obviously the pants would have to be next, but to put on that garment he would first have to remove his other boot. As this seemed to be a most un-do-able plan of action, he pondered the matter a bit more. Staring vaguely off, he began tallying the articles of clothing he had to contend with as compared to the number of appendages he had to handle said articles. Shaking his head at the incompatibility of the result, he tried again.

_Two boots and a pair of pants versus two hands and chin. That works out okay until you consider that I have to have my hands to put on my pants. And if I'm putting on my pants then of course my legs won't be wrapped around this pipe which means that I'll also have to have my hands to hold on with. Okay, so, let's see . . . that makes me about four hands short. Four hands short . . . now that's a real problem._

XXXXXXX

Outside, Jack extended the tape measure with a quick gesture and laid it carefully on the ground. After taking note of the number achieved by calculating the distance between Harry and Dick, he scrawled the amount onto his clipboard. Having worked his way down the line of security men in this fashion, the pilot found that he had successfully killed about two and a half minutes. As these were the last two guards on his measuring parade, however, it became necessary to invent some other form of diversion. Deciding that a bit of mathematics might be in order, he strode to the closest wall, leaned back and began manipulating the various figures he had obtained. A quick glance upward revealed that all of his subjects were still standing in place eying him attentively. Scrunching up his face as though deep in concentration, Jack then muttered through some supposedly difficult addition.

"Two plus nine equals eleven, carry one, six plus seven equals thirteen plus one is fourteen, carry one . . ."

XXXXXXX

Skirting the rim of the oval room, MacGyver made his way to the second corridor. Once the entrance had been reached, he peered cautiously around the corner. The space was empty. Sending a nod of affirmation in Murdoc's general direction, Mac then slipped out of sight.

After a brief pause to again assess the reception area for potential intruders, the assassin emerged from his hiding place. Following Rover One's path precisely, he cast on final eye about the room before also disappearing from view.

"The home stretch," Mac whispered indicating the left hallway door with a jerk of his head.

"You mean the end of the line," Murdoc corrected ominously. "Fishing line and duct tape, my eye . . ."

MacGyver brandished his best 'excuse me' look and cocked his head. "Aw, c'mon. Have a little faith here." A pair of rolling eyes met this suggestion and the troubleshooter smirked critically. A moment of subtle irritation mixed with disgust then passed between the two. Wishing to break the resulting tension Mac forced a half smile. "You ready?"

In response to this inquiry, Murdoc lifted an eyebrow contemptuously and darkened his frown.

"Right. Silly question."

XXXXXXX

Having come to the conclusion that a lack of hands was an insurmountable problem, Sam moved on to plan B. Newly hatched and hot off the press, it called for the least amount of risk. With the boot still clutched under his chin, the young man carefully tied the blue jeans about his waist. _Step one, complete. Now for step two._ Gripping the pipe with one hand and his shoe with the other, Sam eased himself forward. Then, setting his 'unneeded' leg slightly behind him, he laced it about the lead fixture. Mimicking this process with the his 'unneeded' arm, he soon had himself fairly well stabilized. Leaning over, boot in hand, he then made contact with the desired foot. Inch by inch, he worked until at last the shoe was almost in place. Giving it that one last pull, Sam held his breath as his body worked to compensate for the movement. When the proverbial dust had settled, the young man released his vice like hold and began rising to a once more upright posture. Exhaling deeply, he then shifted his attention to the trap door. _Okay, let's see what kind of damage I can do . . ._

XXXXXXX

As Kahn's narration finally came to an end, the study fell silent. Neilson appeared quite vexed by the entire tale and stood quivering on the brink of what could be a most ugly explosion. In order to harness his negative emotions, the man ground his jaw with a vengeance and paced once more around the desk. Opening the uppermost drawer, he retrieved a rather large hand gun from within and checked its chamber. Satisfied that it was indeed loaded, the Colonel then snapped it closed with determination. "MacGyver," he spat addressing the middle distance. "This is all your doing." Then turning upon his audience, Neilson continued. "They are here to get the boy," he announced coolly. "They must be. I want all of the staff alerted immediately. That boy is my only hold on MacGyver. I will not let him slip through my fingers. Kill him if necessary, but above all, do not let him escape."

XXXXXXX

_One thing I learned a long time ago is that looks can be deceiving. Handy bit of knowledge to have in my former line of work. Helps a lot in spottin' double agents and all that kinda stuff. Of course if you twist this phrase around a might you get an even more useful bit of knowledge. One that is more practical on the application end of things. Namely that you can deceive others by your looks._

_Now, I've done a fair amount of sneaking in my day and I've found that it has one major drawback - it looks like sneaking. Enter my little theory. Act like you're not sneaking - like you belong where ever it is you're not supposed to be and then let the instinct of assumption take its course. More times than not it'll work . . . temporarily anyway._

Based on this line of logic, MacGyver and Murdoc pulled their shoulders back and passed through the awaiting door boldly.

"I'm telling ya' man," Mac began as though in mid conversation. "The Rangers don't stand a chance. It's Calgary Flames all the way."

Murdoc's eyebrows bent almost imperceptibly. "Er . . ." he fumbled, scrolling through his limited knowledge of the chosen subject. _Let's see, what do I know about hockey . . . They use sticks don't they? And they're on ice?_ Deciding that neither of these facts were of much value he offered a generic comeback. "Not necessarily."

"Are you kidding," Mac rejoined, taking mental note of the man's blank expression. "With Vernon on the net and Fleury on the court, it's a sure thing." The 'if you say so' gesture Mac then received confirmed his previous suspicion. The man knew nothing about hockey. Not that it really mattered - the time had come to change topics anyway. Raising one hand to surreptitiously depress his transmit key, Mac nimbly moved the conversation along. "Ya' know, it's about time for Nikki to make some noise. Don't cha' think?"

Murdoc smiled flatly at the thick mid-western accent aimed his way and issued a reply. "Absolutely," he declared with a hint of rapture. "A cacophony - that's what we need!"

Mac started to turn in the direction of the guards, but quickly shot a look back at the assassin. Executing a perplexed blink, he then quirked one corner of his mouth. "Nicely put, Murdoc."

XXXXXXX

In the control room, Nikki listened as Pete relayed the request. Glancing about her slowly she then sought means to fulfill the order. Noise? Mac wanted noise? A mischievous smile played on her lips as the solution suddenly presented itself. The tool box . . . naturally.

XXXXXXX

Now facing the guards, Rovers One and Two grinned innocently.

"Hi guys," Mac offered with a half wave.

"We came in with the repair crew," Murdoc added. "In case you were wondering."

As they digested this bit of information, both armed men paused in what appeared to be a moment of hesitant indecision. The intruders certainly didn't appear threatening or out of place, should they believe them? Or should they . . .

A thunderous crash echoed into the outer chamber. Instantly the guards' attention lapsed from their company to the door across the room. Seizing this split second advantage, Mac and Murdoc pounced. A double hand-locked blow to the head felled Two's man swiftly to the ground, while a single right hook produced the same result for One's opponent.

Stifling an exclamation of pain, Mac shook out his right hand. "Ah! Why do I _do_ that?" he murmured incredulously.

"That's why I like guns – less wear and tear on the hands," Murdoc observed flexing his fingers.

Mac's face contorted with disgust at this remark and he promptly changed the subject. "Here, wrap this around your guy's wrists and ankles. Should keep him in place for a while."

"Fishing line?" the assassin questioned doubtfully. "Are you sure it's strong enough to hold him?"

An indefinable something lighted MacGyver's features. "It'll hold," he replied with certainty. "Sam and I ran a little test with it - sort of. Darned stuff doesn't even break when you want it to."

Though the latter part of this comment was mumbled rather than spoken, Murdoc managed to hear all of the words clearly. "Sounds interesting. Don't suppose you'd care to elaborate on that?"

"No," Mac declared testily. "Now hurry up." For the troubleshooter's part, he began gathering the guards' weapons. Once the automatic rifles and hand guns had been retrieved, he then set about dismantling them. With in a matter of seconds, all four pieces of ordinance had been reduced to a pile of, well, just pieces. Nodding satisfactorily, Mac turned to check on his companion's progress. "How's it going?"

Murdoc, who was currently engaged in what appeared to be a marathon wrapping contest, looked up briefly. "You tell me. I've never secured my opponents with fishing line before."

"You're a natural," Mac approved. "Here, loop this fella in, too." Rolling the second guard in close, he then positioned the man's hands and feet to mirror those of his bound countryman.

Without a word, Murdoc instantly set about wrapping his new victim with relish. The familiar screech of duct tape, temporarily distracted him from his task and, looking up, he found MacGyver placing strips of silver over the guards' mouths. A few seconds later the assassin's job was also complete. "So," he whispered. "Now what?"

Mac blew out a heavy breath and shifted his eyes toward the still locked door. "Good question, Murdoc. Very good question."

XXXXXXX

Flanked by Kahn and another security officer, Colonel Neilson emerged from his office. Striding down the hall, he motioned to three other guards gathered nearby. Without hesitation the heavily armed men approached and fell in step behind their leader. No questions were asked and no explanations were given; but based on Neilson's expression, the troops knew instinctively that something was awry. Weapons were therefore cocked and readied in preparation to meet the enemy - whoever it was.

XXXXXXX

"Sir, we've got some movement in the reception area," Willis advised tensely.

With furrowed brows, Pete turned his head in the general direction of the scientist. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure, Mr. Thorton. It's something on the upper landing. The camera doesn't cover the entire area, though, so I can't really make anything out."

"Keep your eyes on it. Let me know the minute you have something solid."

Willis grunted receipt of this order and began scrutinizing the screen even more closely. _Come on. Move already - or go away. I'm flexible._

Despite the man's generous mental offer, however, the suspicious spot refused to comply. Stubbornly it remained both in view and unmoving.

XXXXXXX

Sam's fingers clung to the lead pipe's surface. Leaning out as far as his balance would allow, the young man then snaked his right hand toward the trap door. The muscles in his legs and other hand screamed in protest at the intensity with which they were being tested. Despite their protestations, however, he refused to surrender. When the edge of the door had at last been touched, he sent his nimble finger tips to explore the seam. A gasp escaped his lips as the strain on his body increased. Forcing himself to focus only on his right hand, Sam gritted his teeth with determination. Slipping his index finger out just a hair farther, he gave the door an upward push. _Yes! For once in my life, a door that isn't locked!_

XXXXXXX

Unlatching the slide bolt was easy. Hacking the key pad, well now that was a different story. Kneeling on the floor, MacGyver began examining the obstacle carefully.

"Do you think we can hot wire it?" Murdoc asked.

Mac, who's hand continued to investigate the device, shook his head. "No way. It's too solid. Can't get to the wires."

"What about by-passing the electronic element altogether. Just detach the hinges with that trusty dusty knife of yours." Though the words may have seemed flippant, the assassin intended them with all sincerity. His brow arched with traces of hope and he appeared genuinely interested in the man's answer.

"Well," MacGyver replied with a hint of drollery. "Now I know what I forgot."

Wincing Murdoc raised a hand to his temple as though suddenly struck by a head ache. "Don't tell me . . . Of all the times for you to forget your boy scout training!"

Still examining the lock, Mac glanced up with a brief smile. "Oh I brought my knife. That's not what I forgot."

"What then?"

"I forgot to bring along my spare for Jack Dalton. He was never in the boy scouts."

Massaging his still mysteriously afflicted temple, Murdoc tried to make sense of this comment. "I beg your pardon?"

When Mac opened his mouth to clarify the matter, though, he suddenly stopped short. His face then creased with concentration and he turned back to the key pad. "You know, sometimes these electric locks are all interconnected. If they are then that means they'd share the same entry code: nine, one, nine, four."

"And if they don't?"

MacGyver frowned. "You're not a very optimistic guy, are you Murdoc?"

XXXXXXX

Gathered just shy of the stairs' threshold, Neilson and his band of armed guards stood in a small circle. With strained patience, the Colonel waited as six other security men approached from the consulate's west wing. Having been summoned by their commander they jogged down the long upstairs hallway with military precision - guns in hand.

XXXXXXX

Worming his fingers through the gap, Sam worked to gain a solid purchase on the door's rim. Needing a bit more distance, he eased his left hand from the pipe. In response, his tenuous balance threatened to give way completely. A flutter of panic suddenly assaulted the young man and he felt his palms begin to sweat. _No wonder Dad hates heights_ . . . Pushing this revelation to the back of his mind, Sam strove to maintain his focus. Having now released his left hand entirely, he prepared himself for the shift. _One, two, three!_ In a flash, the free hand shot forward and latched onto the opening's edge. The strain of this position coupled with his already slim thread of balance, caused Sam's legs to slip. The connection they had with the pipe was soon to be lost. Their grip seemed to slacken with every protracted moment that passed. _Well I'd say that in about five seconds I'm gonna be left hanging in mid-air. Assuming of course that this flat-edged hold I have on the door frame can survive a sudden influx of swaying body weight. If it doesn't, then . . . well, I guess being left hanging in mid-air won't be a problem any more. Man, I hate it when this happens!_

XXXXXXX

_Click!_

An uncontrollable grin broke over MacGyver's face. His hunch had been right. "Man, I love it when that happens!" The urgent sound of Pete's voice in his ear, however, soon calmed this flame of enthusiasm.

"Command to Rover One."

"Go ahead Pete."

"We have movement on the upper landing in the reception area. Believe it to be a large group of subjects; unknown destination or purpose. So far they have not advanced in your direction, but wanted to make you aware."

Mac's eyes darkened considerably at this information and he bit the inside of his cheek. After reviewing the situation for a moment, he made a decision. "Pete, tell Nikki to give us fifteen seconds, set the surge device for ten minutes and then get the heck outta there. If anything goes wrong I want her and Jack near the van."

There was a moment's pause as Thornton accepted this 'worst-case-scenario' plan of action. His steady, steel-like voice then answered. "Copy Rover One. Will advise."

XXXXXXX

Sam's grip proved to be a strong one. As his legs swung free of the pipe he swayed and slipped, but ultimately held fast. Offering a prayer of thanks for the multitude of chin ups he had performed during his life, the young man then summoned his remaining strength and began pulling upwards. His progress was slow and somewhat painful, but it was progress. Filling the air with variety of straining noises, he distracted himself by reflecting on who had invented the useless art of grunting.

_It doesn't help a darn thing, but dang it if we don't all do it._

Progress now all of two inches.

_I mean of all the ridiculous things ever thought of. All it does is use up oxygen._

Gasp and another two inches.

_Much needed oxygen I might add. Aw man_ . . .

A moment later, it was all over. His elbows reached the edge and with the added leverage they provided, the remaining portion of his body was quick to follow. Hauling himself farther from the opening, Sam then rolled over onto his back. Without even considering the fact that he had no idea exactly where he was or how close the 'enemy' might be, he closed his eyes and took in several deep breaths. Vaguely grasping at the blue jeans tied about his waist, he undid the knot and set about placing them where they belonged.

XXXXXXX

Inside the control room, Nikki listened to Pete's advisory. She didn't like the ominous tone of his voice, nor did she appreciate the order. If circumstances had been different she would have protested vehemently. As things stood, though, she was left with no choice, but to comply. Their mission's success depended upon expert timing and everyone being exactly where they were supposed to be at any given time. Were she to 'improvise' as MacGyver would call it, and attempt to join Rovers One and Two, or offer some other form of unplanned assistance, the results could be disastrous. This being the case, Nikki swallowed her displeasure and obediently began counting down the seconds.

XXXXXXX

Pushing open the door Mac cast a quick look inside. "Empty, big time," he announced, withdrawing his duct tape from a back pocket. Tearing off two strips he then strategically placed them so as to prevent the latch from locking back into place. Once this was done, he motioned to Murdoc. "C'mon. Help me get these guys outta sight. We're about to have company."

The assassin nodded curtly and sprang into action. Gathering up the bound men's legs, he immediatly starting pulling. Mac was at his side in an instant and together they dispatched the task in a matter of seconds. Pulling off his flannel shirt, Mac then bolted from the empty chamber and knelt beside the pile of dismantled weapons. Hastily he stretched out his shirt and began transferring the metal pieces onto the fabric. A noise at the opposing door, made the troubleshooter quicken his pace a bit more. Half a second later, when the final elements were in place, Mac gathered the corners of the flannel and retreated back to his hiding place. When he burst through the opening, Murdoc stood waiting to secure the door. It couldn't latch of course, but the unconscious guards would make a handy door stop. A small gust of air at MacGyver's heels followed by a soft thud indicated that the assassin had indeed performed his duty. Stopping in his tracks, Mac set the shirt and its contents on the ground and leaned forward, hands on his knees.

"Thanks," Mac murmured suddenly feeling breathless.

"Yes, well don't flatter yourself. Remember I'm doing this for me - not you."

MacGyver eyed his companion sincerely. "I know, but thank you."

Growing uncomfortable, Murdoc repositioned his weight from one leg to the other. "Whatever." When a soft smile answered this remark, the hit man shifted again. "Alright, you're welcome - I suppose. Look, can we just get moving."

"Sure. Anything you say," Mac nodded rising back to his full height. Throwing his eyes about their new accommodations, he soon spotted a door along the opposite wall. "Well that looks promising."

"It's locked," the hit man rumbled.

"I'd be surprised if it wasn't. C'mon, let's see what we've got."

XXXXXXX

With his jeans once again in their proper place, Sam felt significantly more prepared to meet what lay ahead. Glancing around, he found that this room, like the previous two, was very gray and very empty. Before any detailed investigation could be begun, however, an eerie sort of creak caught his attention. Whirling to one side, he saw a thin ray of light etching itself in the darkness. Given its shape and the accompanying sound effects, he knew immediately that it was a door of some kind. A door being opened by an as yet unidentified figure. Moving swiftly, he crossed to the corner that would offer him the most protection - the one directly to the left of the ever increasing gap. Poised for action, he held his breath. The murmur of hushed voices soon drifted into the air and the strand of light continued to widen.

"The slit's too small, I can't see a thing," one voice whispered. "Whoever built this place certainly didn't want eyes peeking along their door frames."

A humph answered this comment and then a large shadow interrupted the band of light. It moved stealthily across the opening and seemed to pull in close to the opposing wall. It was a familiar shadow - tall, broad shouldered, with a incongruous mop of shaggy hair.

"Dad!" Sam blurted out, even before he was certain.

"Sam?"

XXXXXXX

Colonel Neilson lead his men down the stairs. There were a dozen of them in total, each heavily armed. Their destination: the control room.

XXXXXXX

Mac spun on his heel. Excitement tainted by the dread of possibly being mistaken filled his body. Had it really been Sam's voice? Was his mind just been playing tricks on him? As quickly as these thoughts came, though, they died away. For there, moving out of the shadows, was his son. A strangled sort of sound escaped Mac's throat and he stood transfixed. The paralyzing sensation lasted but a moment, however, and when Sam stepped towards him the response was immediate. Reaching out, he quickly engulfed his son in the biggest, tightest hug he could offer. Sam's arms wrapped around him in return and he started to smile. MacGyver optimism and all there had been times today when he had doubted that this moment would ever come . . . doubted that he would ever be able to see and hold his son again. Now to suddenly have him so close, all in one piece, alive and breathing was beyond wonderful. "Sam . . ."

"I'm okay, Dad."

"I thought I'd lost you . . ." Mac whispered, his voice barely audible.

Sam felt his heart catch at these words and he pulled his father just a little bit closer. "No way, Dad. You can't get rid of me that easy."

Mac gave a quiet laugh and then reluctantly eased his son to arms length. "So, are you okay? And I want the truth young man."

Sam rolled his eyes off to one side and deliberated his answer. "The truth?"

"And nothing but." Accompanying this affirmation with a stern look, Mac waited for a reply.

"Okay. Nothing broken, missing or unaccounted for except my Swiss Army Knife and a few other odds and ends. Injuries include bumps, bruises, sore muscles, and a head ache the size of an elephant - all of which I must say feel ten times better now that you're here," Sam concluded, flashing his Dad a grin.

This smile was just being returned when Murdoc spoke. "I hate to interrupt this lovely father son moment, MacGyver but Peter just told me we have uninvited guests moving into the hallway."

"Aw man . . . those guys have the worst timing."

XXXXXXX

Turning down the appropriate corridor, surrounded by his men, Neilson halted a few feet from the door. Motioning with his gun-hand, he then indicated that Kahn should make entry first. As the guard moved into position, he gave a supplemental order.

"Kick it."

Though this wasn't really necessary, the Colonel wanted to make an impression. He was angry and he wanted to terrify his opponents; to see them quake in fear at his arrival. He was through playing games. He wanted MacGyver . . . he wanted his friends, he wanted his son and he wanted them now.


	16. Chapter 16: Escape! (Part 4)

Chapter Sixteen: . . . Escape! (Part Four)

_Do ya' ever get the feeling that you're just not making any progress? Well right about now I think I could write a book about that . . ._

With an unhappy grunt, Sam gazed at the trap door above. Yes, of all places he was back in the blasted black hole - again. Of course this time things were a bit different . . . this time he wasn't alone. Mac and some fellow he had yet to identify were there and to make matters even better they also now had a ladder. Found in a corner of the upper basement room, unintended compliments of Neilson no doubt, the ladder had been a most welcome find.

Standing next to his son, Mac curiously traced the young man's gaze upward. Seeing nothing but vacant space, he wrinkled his brow. "What?"

Startled from his mental wanderings, Sam quickly dropped his eyes. "Oh, nothing. I just don't seem to be getting very far, that's all," he mumbled.

Mac struck a playfully offended look. "Hey - you found me, remember? That's progress, right? Now, c'mon, show me what we've got to work with down here."

Sam grinned, feeling somewhat encouraged, and began a basic run down of the assets at their disposal. "Well, we've got lead pipes up above that run the length of this room along with some form of recessed lighting. I couldn't find a switch for them down here so I'm assuming the controls must be upstairs somewhere. There is a holding cell down at that end with three hydraulic powered locks on the door. Inside you'll find running water and a dim can light."

"That's it?" Murdoc pried incredulously.

Sam shrugged. "Except for air - there's plenty of that."

Mac's face lit with amusement at the assassin's reaction to this comment and he found himself stifling a chuckle. "Don't look so tragic Murdoc. Our resources may be limited, but they're not that bad. What do you think Sam? Hydraulic fluid for the ladder?"

"Sounds good. Maybe a drip rag for the can light?"

"Right. What about the lead pipes will they work for . . . you know?"

"Tried and tested - they'll hold, but you won't like it."

Mac grunted. "Yeah, no kidding. What about the water?"

"There's no way to transport it, but we could start some running to attract attention?"

"Good thinking. We confiscated some gun parts upstairs, too. They should come in handy - don't cha' think?"

"_Only_ -" Murdoc interrupted, having had all he could stand of this fractional dialogue. "If you put them _together_."

XXXXXXX

The sound of splitting wood filled the empty room. The door gave way immediately and soon the area was filled with as many heavily armed men as it could handle.

Neilson moved in and assessed the result of his order. Had he been a man given to humor, he might have laughed at the force with which they had just captured an unoccupied room. Given his sour nature, though, the event served only to stoke his already smoldering anger. Motioning to the door on the left, the one leading to the security chamber, he ordered half of his men to make entry. As these moved forward, the remaining guards also advanced, re-securing the now vacant positions. As this transition was being completed, Neilson allowed his eyes to once again scan the outer room. Something was wrong. He had sensed it the moment they had entered . . . the question was, what?

XXXXXXX

"Okay, according to Pete, we've got about twelve guys coming our way," Mac announced, "and Nikki's timer is gonna go in about nine minutes."

"Nikki's timer?" Sam questioned.

"It's complicated, son," Mac deflected hurriedly. "But in about nine minutes this whole place goes into lock down - no body in or out."

Sam nodded immediately. He might not understand all of the details, but 'lock down' certainly sounded like something to be avoided. "Ah huh," he grunted, nodding again. "So, we should get a move on then . . . what do you want me to do?"

"Hydraulic fluid," Mac suggested. "Murdoc, you come with me."

XXXXXXX

Two heavy fists pounded on the security chamber door. Caught completely unawares, those inside jumped to their feet. A flurry of activity then followed as they attempted to straighten the disorder Nikki's 'repairs' had caused. Their efforts died quickly, however, when another round of thunder rained down upon them. Thus discouraged, the head security officer hastened to the door. Seconds later, four of the six advancing guards fanned into the chamber, guns drawn_._

XXXXXXX

Emerging from the side entrance, Carpenter breathed in the fresh air. Though not given to claustrophobia, she had to admit that the consulate had managed to grow amazingly small and uncomfortable during the past few minutes. Her escape, or 'planned exit' as she preferred to call it, had been close. While passing through the oval reception room she had actually caught a glimpse of Neilson's men descending the stairs. Thankfully, due to the angle of the winding staircase, she and her guide had managed to reach the side hallway before being detected - a fact for which she was profoundly grateful.

Now safely outside, Nikki felt her surge of adrenaline begin to wane. Exactly why it had risen so acutely in the first place she wasn't sure. There had been nothing overtly hostile about the group on the stairs. They were armed, of course, but so was everyone else at the consulate. They were large in numbers, but that was nothing new. Whatever the reason, though, her reaction had most definitely been negative.

Shrugging to herself, Carpenter inhaled again and walked over to the van. Hoisting the tool box, she nimbly slid it into the back compartment. Nodding a smile in the direction of her guide, she then went in search of her partner in rescue - Jack Dalton.

XXXXXXX

Climbing the ladder, Murdoc followed Mac through the basement's inner doorway back to the main entrance. "Are you crazy?" he hissed. "Our company could be coming through that door any minute."

"Grab them," MacGyver ordered indicating the 'neutralized' guards. "We're taking them down with us."

"But what about the door?"

Dropping to his knees the troubleshooter began sorting through the pile of dismantled weaponry. Retrieving a rifle barrel from the tangled mass, he then held it up for Murdoc to see.

"Well that explains everything," the assassin muttered. "Now I feel much better." With a roll of his eyes, he then set about removing the bound guards.

Mac rose and kept pressure on the door until the live door stops were well on their way. Once the area was clear, he then placed one end of the rifle barrel beneath the handle while simultaneously pressing the opposing end against the floor.

_Nothing like a good old fashioned door jam to keep your enemies at bay - momentarily anyhow. This is just one of many unintended purposes for guns that I have discovered through the years. Nice, huh? I know people say that guns have their place, but for me they're just things to be taken apart and re-appropriated for non-violent stuff like this. Usually works out pretty well too - shame more people don't try it._

XXXXXXX

Retreating from the control room, the party of six guards reported to their leader. "Colonel, there are no unauthorized personnel in the chamber."

Acknowledging this statement with a distracted gesture, Neilson stared intently across the room. The source of his sensation of error was finally beginning to dawn. "The door," he announced vaguely.

"Colonel?"

"Look at the bolt," Neilson ordered, training his eyes on the basement entrance. "It isn't locked." Then, to further his point, he continued. "Two officers were assigned to secure that door. Where are they?"

XXXXXXX

Gathering up what remained of the bundle of weapons, Mac retreated back through the inner doorway.

"Took you long enough," the assassin complained between heavy breaths.

"What's the matter, Murdoc? You outta shape?" Mac needled, ignoring the man's comment. Retrieving another rifle barrel, he then set about securing the second door as he had the first. Once this was done, he swiveled around to face the hit man. A withering look, the likes of which Mac had never before seen, instantly met him.

"Out of shape?" Murdoc growled.

Mac twisted his growing smile into a sort of lopsided smirk and nodded. "Yeah, with the way you're breathing."

Throwing his eyes to the ceiling, the assassin moaned. "Fishing line, duct tape, guns that are in pieces, and to top it all off three hundred pounds worth of unconscious guards to haul around and you have the audacity to say that I'm out of shape! Have I died and gone to MacGyverland or what?"

"Or what," Mac assured him, still burying a grin. "MacGyverland is much worse than this . . . just ask Pete."

XXXXXXX

Outside, Nikki had little trouble finding her compatriot. Spying him within a matter of seconds, she stood confounded by the array of living statuettes surrounding him. By what magical power did the pilot have them mesmerized? Crossing to his side to investigate, she leaned comfortably against the wall.

"Jack . . ." Carpenter drawled softly.

"Yeah, Jonesy?"

"What are they doing?"

"They're marking the points of origin for our circuit so that they won't be lost during the reinstatement process. I already notated the distances between them and have just been working on calculating their ultimate compatibility for re-circuiting." Batting his eye a few times, Jack then passed his clipboard over for approval.

As she viewed the paper, a snort of laughter caught in Nikki's throat. Top to bottom it appeared to be one, long, continuous mathematical problem that managed to morph from addition to subtraction, multiplication, division, as well as a few other manipulations that she failed to identify. The original figures had long since been lost, re-introduced and lost again, resulting in a mass of worthless numbers.

"Well," Jack prompted raising an eyebrow. "Whacha' think?"

Biting the inside of her cheek, Nikki swallowed the final shred of laughter lingering in her throat and responded. "Third column, fourth line," she stated seriously. "You dropped a one on your carry over."

"By Jove! I do believe you're right," Jack responded aghast. "Now I shall have to do the entire matter over again . . ."

XXXXXXX

Crossing to the basement door, Neilson examined its handle. The slide bolt, as he had previously noted, was not engaged, and soon it became apparent that the electric lock had also been compromised. The Colonel's anger rose clearly at this discovery and he backed up several steps. "Kahn," he barked.

"Sir!"

Jerking his head in the direction of the door, Neilson again indicated that he wanted forcible entry made.

Nodding receipt of this order, Kahn moved into position. Standing a stride's length away, he then lifted his leg and, in one smooth motion, delivered a powerful kick to the lock. Unfortunately for him, the door had been jammed too well. So well in fact that it was unable to absorb even a fraction of the force exerted upon it. This being the case, all excess power was instantly rejected and sent recoiling back from whence it came. The result was ungainly, unprofessional, and unbalanced. It was also decidedly embarrassing for Kahn as he landed in a jumbled heap on the floor.

The Colonel was speechless with rage.

"I . . . I must have misjudged the resistance," Kahn stammered, struggling to collect himself.

"I should kill you now," Neilson seethed in an all too quiet voice. "Fail me again and you will wish I had."

XXXXXXX

_Well I just checked in with Pete . . . latest reports say we've got about six and half minutes left before the lock down. Breaking it down that leaves us with about two minutes to finish getting ready, three and a half minutes to take out our greeting party and thirty seconds to get from the basement door to the side exit. Of course with all the thudding I've been hearing upstairs, we might have to shave a little off our prep time. Sounds like our guests are kinda anxious to join the party. That's okay, though. Like I told Pete, two minutes is really more than we need._

_Yeah, I know, he laughed, too . . . or would groaned be a better word?_

_Anyway, as far as I'm concerned things are shaping up nicely. Well, okay maybe not nicely, but definitely quickly. It took some doing, but me and Murdoc managed to get the unconscious guards tucked away in the holding cell. Their trip down the ladder was interesting to say the least - but I won't dwell on that. We got the weapon pieces down here, too (lot less hassle there) and have them in place._

_We found the controls for the recessed lighting upstairs, or up ladder if you want to get technical, in the second chamber. After some finagling, I managed to remove the cover panel and cross up the circuits. Now that switch won't be turning on anything. The added darkness should give us an advantage; plus anyone who tries flipping that switch now is gonna get a bit of a buzz. Nothing deadly of course, just enough to get their attention._

_Sam's got a nice little leak going on one of the hydraulic cylinders. Since we don't have a traditional means of transporting the fluid he's collecting it in his flannel shirt - or on it rather, the thing's just about soaked. It should be ready for the ladder any second now._

_Murdoc is doing better . . . I think. At least he hasn't prophesied our total failure during the last two minutes. I guess you could call that an improvement . . . for Murdoc anyway. Right now, he's on the ladder rigging up the drip rag for the light bulb. Basically what we've got there is a can light that hangs down about six inches from the ceiling, suspended by an insulated cord; and, courtesy of the guards' uniform sleeves, two rags - one wet and one dry. The dry one gets tied right above the bulb and the wet one right above that. In theory, it's sort of a primitive delayed detonator. The desired result being that when the dry rag soaks with water it will then drip onto the bulb causing it to blow. Exactly when that will happen, though is kinda hard to judge. Hopefully it will be at a good time . . . I'll keep a good thought._

XXXXXXX

After several more balanced attempts, Kahn at last succeeded in jarring the rifle barrel out of place. Immediately upon this victory blow, the door opened with a snap. As before a portion of the guards moved into the new space, guns drawn. Finding the room deserted, an attack was then launched on the interior basement door.

XXXXXXX

"They're making progress," Murdoc noted sending an ominous look toward the ceiling.

"So are we," Mac returned calmly. "In fact, I'd say we're just about finished."

"I was afraid of that," the assassin mumbled.

"Don't be such a sad sack, we'll make it - right Dad?"

It was more a statement of fact rather than a question and Mac couldn't help but smile at his son's frankness. "Right, Sam. You about done with that ladder?"

"Yep. Last rung."

"What's the score?"

"Top eight are clean. From then on, ever other rung is greased down. I had a little extra so for good measure I slicked up the side grips, too."

"Alright," Mac murmured approvingly. "I think we're in business."

"Oh is that what this is?" Murdoc mocked in an annoying sort of voice.

In response, Mac's head tilted to one side and his features creased with consternation. "Tell me again why I brought you along?"

_Well so much for Murdoc being better. You know, I'd be the first to admit that sarcasm is not without merit. Lord knows I've rattled off plenty of smart aleck remarks in my time (and thoroughly enjoyed them, too I might add) but this guy . . . And his pessimistic attitude! Forget about seeing the glass half empty, according to him we don't even have a glass. Okay, so our situation isn't the best, but hey it could certainly be worse. Don't ask me how - I can't waste time conjuring up problems that aren't there - just trust me . . . it could be. But I digress. The point is I can dish out sarcasm and I can usually deal with doom and gloomers, but I am rapidly deciding that Murdoc, master of dark thoughts and mockery, is beyond my depth of patience._

XXXXXXX

The Phoenix command unit felt eerily quiet. There had been no radio transmissions for what felt like a small eternity and the security camera feeds were not wired for sound. As for Pete and Willis, the sum total of their communication during the past few seconds consisted of multiple sighs accented by bouts of finger drumming.

"Anything?" Thornton asked finally, shattering the silence.

"Nope. Once they passed through the basement door I lost all visual contact. There must not be any cameras down there. I'm sure Nikki would have patched the extra views in, if they had been available."

Pete nodded and launched another chorus of drum rolls. On an impatient impulse he then depressed MacGyver's toggle switch. "Command to Rover One, what's your status?"

The static riddled reply came quickly. "We're all set Pete. Just waiting for our party crashers."

"Received, Rover One . . . You sure you're okay, Mac?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I don't know, you just sound a little . . . I don't know . . . off, somehow. Not quite yourself," Thornton observed.

"Oh, _that_."

"Mac," Pete called with concern. "What does 'oh _that_' mean - exactly?"

There was a moment's hesitation and then a deliberate, unenthusiastic sort of answer. "Heights, Pete. Good ol' heights."

Pete's mouth budded into a smile. "Oh, _that_."

XXXXXXX

Having made careful use of the greased ladder, MacGyver, Murdoc and Sam now sat perched along the upper pipes. Their mode of ascension was still propped against the trap door's opening – purposefully left there to lure the bad guys downward.

With strained patience, the elevated trio waited for the impending attack. Knock after knock sounded from above, until at last there came a piercing crack. A swarm of foot beats followed and then all was quiet. As the new silence descended, Mac caught his son's eye. More than anything he wanted to offer some word of encouragement; some unbreakable promise that everything would be alright . . . but words eluded him, so he simply smiled. In return, Sam gave a subtle wink accompanied by a look of absolute trust . Seeing this reaction, MacGyver's eyes lit with pride and his smile deepened. It may have been silent, but this moment of communication allowed him and his son to say all that was necessary, and more.

XXXXXXX

"Ahh!" Kahn retracted his hand immediately as sparks flew from the switch to his fingers.

"What is it now?" Neilson fumed. Before the man could explain, however, the Colonel waved a hand. "Never mind. Just keep moving!"

XXXXXXX

The trap door opened with a flash and soon the legs of the first guard appeared. As his body moved farther into view, another pair of legs dropped onto the upper rungs and then another. Three men in total, therefore were on the ladder before the hydraulic fluid was discovered. An unintelligible shout announced the event and mass discombobulation quickly ensued.

The first guard's sole slipped on the ninth rung. He yelled and grabbed for the sides of the ladder seeking support. Instead of impeding his fall, though, this maneuver only hastened his demise. Landing in a pile, the guard instantly tried to regain his bearings. Unfortunately for him, guard number two hurried his own journey down the ladder in order to offer some form of assistance. This, of course, resulted in another unscheduled fall and ended with both men flat on the floor. This downward spiral continued and multiplied until all of around five guards lay scattered about.

"What the devil is going on down there?!" Neilson demanded.

A series of grunts, groans and grumbles drifted upward, but no articulate answer seemed to emerge. The mass of bodies slowly began to separate and then those least impacted started testing their legs.

XXXXXXX

Mac eyed the figures below and trained his eyes on one particularly available guard. As he did so, a familiar empty feeling swirled into the pit of his stomach. His head felt light and his palms sweaty. _Darned heights. Focus MacGyver, focus! _Heeding his own advice, the troubleshooter narrowed his attention and prepared for the task at hand. Mentally he began coaxing his target into range. _Just two steps farther. That's it . . . and one more . . . ah perfect!_

XXXXXXX

The woosh, clunk of some mysterious, falling object startled the still disoriented foes lingering about the ladder. A muffled sound similar to something solid connecting with an unidentified part of the human body soon followed and then . . . nothing. Readying their weapons, the four remaining guards called out a phrase in their native tongue and waited for some kind of response.

XXXXXXX

_Okay, so little problem here. German isn't exactly my best thing. Of course basic deduction can go a long way in semi-interpreting stuff like this. Based strictly on the inflection I'm gonna say that was a question not an order. I think I caught a name in there, too, so it was probably some sort of status check for my friend here._

_I still remember a few bits of German, perhaps a little communication can be managed here. Let's see, 'guten morgen' - now that's a big help. Ah, 'aufgeben' perhaps, that means surrender I think . . . of course why the heck they should surrender I have no idea._

XXXXXXX

Straining through the darkness the guards repeated their previous call. This time, their tone was decidedly sharper and more urgent. For a moment, silence again answered them, until . . .

"Hier drüben."

Said in a hushed voice, the phrase elicited an immediate reaction from the guards. As one, they tensed, traded brief looks and moved forward. Guns still at the ready, they delved deeper into the shadows. The transition from the the lighted area about the ladder to the unlit recesses of the basement soon put the group at a disadvantage - a disadvantage from which they were not destined to recover.

XXXXXXX

From his position on the pipe, Sam assessed the situation below. Looking straight down he could see the unconscious fifth guard lying outstretched along the floor. A few feet away, crouched along one wall, was his Dad. On the opposite side of the room, heading directly for this well laid trap, were the guards. Walking in an angular box-type formation, the group appeared to be staying close together. Grinning to himself upon seeing this development, Sam felt his adrenaline begin to rush. _Okay, boys. Here we go. Just like fallin' off a log. . ._

. . . And fall they did. Connecting with the body of their fallen comrade, the two leading guards stumbled ahead. Their legs and arms extended in an attempt to remain upright, but a fist materializing out of the darkness quickly felled them to the ground. The blows came swiftly back to back, striking first one man and then the other.

Reports of the struggle traveled quickly and the two rear guards lunged forward to the rescue. A split second later, however the familiar whoosh, clunk of falling humanity ended this charge. Crumpling to the floor beneath their attackers, both victims instantly began to struggle. Blows were then exchanged and knuckles, along with other miscellaneous parts of anatomy, bruised.

Seeing the scuffle, Mac tried to lend a hand, but his advance was hindered when one of the previously downed guards grasped his leg. Tumbling to the floor, the troubleshooter recovered himself quickly and rolled to one side landing on his feet. His opponent executed a similar move and soon the pair sat facing each other mere feet apart.

_Whenever I see a man squared off against me like this two possibilities come leaping to mind. One, he's gonna' shoot me or two, he's gonna' jump me. Both have happened to me more than I care to remember and most of the time_ _I have not enjoyed the out come . . . especially the whole shooting thing._

Having lost his gun in the darkness, it became necessary for the guard to implement option number two - namely 'jumping'. Accordingly, the lanky body dropped, set, and then launched forward. It flew high and fast, angling expertly for the target's position.

Having identified his attacker's strategy in an instant, and being well practiced in the art of ducking, Mac readied himself for a quick tuck and roll. A fraction of a second later, he unfolded from this maneuver and rose successfully to his feet. A soft moan then greeted his ears and, upon inspection, he found that the would-be human projectile had impaled himself into the closest wall. A wince creased the troubleshooter's face and he turned away sympathetically.

_Ouch. Concrete versus head. Don't think I like the sound of that._

With his opponent thus disposed of, MacGyver moved to reassess matters in the basement. Sam, he noted, was just polishing off one of the guards with a beautiful Karate chop while to his left, Murdoc sat atop an apparently vanquished foe with a superior sort of smirk decorating his face.

_Alright. Five down, six to go . . ._

XXXXXXX

Kneeling close to the trap door's edge, the Colonel tried to make sense of the noises rising from below. Obviously his men had encountered someone or something that was causing them difficulty, but detail-wise events still remained sketchy. He had heard dull thuds, muffled thwunks, and a variety of other sounds, but nothing readily discernible. What remained of his patience, therefore was now rapidly deteriorating.

"Kahn - report!"

XXXXXXX

"Neilson," Sam murmured and flicked his eyes toward his father. Raised eyebrows and a questioning look met him in return so the young man offered a bit of clarification. "Colonel Kurt Neilson - former East German Intelligence."

XXXXXXX

"Kahn - report!"

XXXXXXX

Understanding lit MacGyver's face. That voice, that name - he knew them both. Memories from their encounter years ago surged to the forefront of his mind. The questions, the poison, the narrow escape, everything. Along with these memories came the realization that this was the man who had taken his son. This was the man who'd had Sam in his clutches. The very thought caused his heart to pound. How could he have let this happen?

Standing close by, Murdoc watched as the troubleshooter worked to process this new development. When the man's look of recognition changed to one of sadness and then anger, he felt the need to investigate. "Let me guess," he hissed. "You know this guy, right?"

Mac gave a half nod and a shrug, but did not elaborate further.

Finding this response to be wholly unsatisfactory, the assassin pressed for more. "And?"

"And?" Mac grumbled back, clearly indicating that any and all pursuit of this subject was, as far as he was concerned, quite unnecessary.

Still undeterred, Murdoc folded his arms, pursed his lips and forged ahead. "And?"

MacGyver sighed. This was hardly the time or the place to enter into a battle of wills with his long time nemesis. If they wanted to make it out of the basement alive, there was no time left to be wasted. "Alright, alright," he capitulated softly. "If it's the same Neilson . . . he tried to kill me once about seven years ago."

"Well, didn't we all. It was a good year for that sort of thing."

Mac saw the fire leap into his son's eyes at this flippant remark. The young face became at once angry and fiercely protective. "Sam," Mac whispered, touching him on the shoulder. Their gazes locked for a moment and he offered a faint smile. "Don't listen to him; and don't worry about Neilson. He couldn't kill me before and he's not going to hurt anyone now."

XXXXXXX

Motioning to the remainder of his men, the Colonel ordered them to enter the basement. "Move out! And if MacGyver or his boy are down there, bring them to me - without fail!"

Shouts of acceptance, met Neilson from all sides, but he remained violently still. His usually well masked ire was rapidly rising unchecked to the surface.

XXXXXXX

Hearing the orders above, Mac, Sam and Murdoc reacted immediately. As planned, they now took shelter in the holding cell. MacGyver turned on the water faucet to attract attention, Sam pulled open the heavy door, and Murdoc retrieved the remaining gun parts from the far side of the room.

XXXXXXX

Exercising greater caution than their predecessors the latest descending guards managed to avoid toppling off of the ladder. It was tedious work, but eventually the lot of them reached the ground quite solidly on their feet. Having mastered this obstacle, the group, with weapons raised, now fanned out six abreast. The murmurs of running water soon reached their ears and as one they advanced toward the cell. Along the way the still unconscious 'first wave' bunch was discovered, causing several of the new arrivals to preemptively ready their guns. Obviously being caught off-guard was not in their plans.

XXXXXXX

Inside the holding cell, pressed against a wall near the doorway, Mac stood at the ready. The footfalls were getting closer. Any moment now the time to act would be upon them. Glancing up at the still glowing light bulb, he tried to judge the progress of their water timer. The once dry rag certainly looked damp enough . . . surely the light had to be close to blowing, right?

XXXXXXX

Two out of the six guards moved in close to the cell door and flattened themselves against the wall. The sound of running water continued to meet their ears, but other than that everything was quiet. Peeking a cautious eye around the corner, the senior man came within a fraction of spotting Mac. As it was, though, he saw nothing but empty space. A quick motion with his head then acted as an unspoken order for the remaining guards to enter and clear the room.

XXXXXXX

Sensing how close the enemy was, MacGyver threw a pleading look toward the light bulb.

_Aw, c'mon. Blow . . . now, please . . ._

The muzzle of two guns poked through the open doorway.

_Aw man . . ._

Four bodies, moving with military precision, flooded into the room. One went left, two forward, and another right. As a result, Mac found himself staring point blank at a the business end of a machine gun. Before his instincts had a chance to react, however, it happened - a loud crack, a flash of light and then darkness. Seizing this moment of opportunity, Mac grabbed the weapon aimed his way. Jerking it hard in a circular motion, he soon had it wrenched from the guard's hands. Without pause, he then used the non-lethal end to register a knock to his opponent's left temple. The man crumpled instantly.

Meanwhile, Sam managed to take down two of the other guards himself. Having taken up a position between the open door and the wall, he had successfully transformed the seventy-five pound door into a hinged battering ram. Plowing into the fixture with all of his might, the young man had swung the obstacle solidly into one foe while simultaneously winging another. A swift Karate kick had then made short work of the latter, rendering him quite indisposed.

During this time of utter pandemonium, Murdoc also leaped into the action and made himself useful. Having tucked himself away behind the half-wall partition, armed only with the remaining gun parts, the assassin timed his attack perfectly. A split second before the light blew, he jumped up and over the wall. Clutching the flannel shirt that held the weapon pieces in one hand, he swung it hard into the first guard he found. The first blow disarmed his enemy and the second incapacitated him. Then according to plan, Murdoc emptied the contents of his 'club' onto the floor. The noise was astounding.

Acting immediately, the guards who had remained outside plunged through the door. Instantly they slipped and fell as their feet rolled over the barrels, screws and cylinders of the dismantled guns.

"Sam! Murdoc! Go!" Mac ordered as he pushed the fallen men deeper into the cell. Feeling two bodies move past him in the dark, the troubleshooter smiled in satisfaction. Grabbing the door, he then pulled it tightly shut. Engaging what was left of the hydraulic locks, he then sagged against the wall. Angry fists soon began to pound on the door and he smiled all the more. _Eleven down, one to go_ . . . "Sam? Murdoc? Everyone okay?"

"If I were you MacGyver, I would start worrying about myself."

Swiveling hard to his right, the troubleshooter's eyes searched through the darkness for the source of the ominous voice. Almost immediately Colonel Kurt Neilson came into view, gun drawn.

XXXXXXX

** For those who are curious 'hier drüben' means 'over here' . . . just FYI. :)


	17. Chapter 17: Wrapping Up Loose Ends

Chapter Seventeen: Wrapping Up Loose Ends

Murdoc considered the scene before him with distaste. He could already feel the payment for 'protecting MacGyver' slipping through his fingers. Equally unnerving was the accusatory look being leveled his way by Sam. Every pore of the young man's face seemed to scream 'what did you do that for!'. 'That', in this case, referring to the assassin's recent action - namely spiriting Sam out of sight the moment they had exited the holding cell. It had been a necessary step at the time due to the fact that at that particular moment Neilson had begun descending the ladder. Spotting the threat, Murdoc had immediately taken the initiative, clamped one hand over his companion's mouth, and practically drug him into the shadows. Generous though this may sound, his action had not been without its drawbacks. One such drawback was that it had allowed no time to warn MacGyver of their impending visitor. This had, of course, resulted in the troubleshooter being left behind, followed shortly by his walking right into Neilson's grasp. Adding to this rather significant problem was also the fact that thanks to a certain irate Mr. Malloy, the assassin now sported a bleeding index finger. _Teach me to put a hand over this kid's mouth_. . .

Nursing his wounded digit, Murdoc tried to refocus his attention to the more pressing issue at hand. Peeking out from behind their mound of cover (the five unconscious guards still littering the floor), he then considered what to do next. Given his nature, of course there was but one possible option that presented itself. Padding down some of the fallen bodies, he searched for what he believed to be the ultimate solution . . . a gun.

XXXXXXX

MacGyver's eyes met those of his adversary and narrowed. _You know, I usually try to avoid this kind of scenario. The whole high-noon-showdown sort of thing just isn't my style. . . but what're you gonna' do?_

Mentally scrambling to come up with some sort of plan, Mac scanned his peripheral vision. Much to his agitation, however, nothing helpful was gleaned from this search. Not only did he fail to see anything of use escape-wise, but he also failed to spot his son or Murdoc. Deciding that trying to buy some time was his best option - or rather, at the moment, his only option - therefore, the troubleshooter launched upon an empty line of discourse. "Well, Colonel Neilson . . . Long time no see." When nothing more than a derisive laugh answered this statement, Mac continued. "So, how was prison?" he drawled conversationally.

Neilson's face darkened at the question, but he managed a mirthless smile in return. "Ah, the infamous MacGyver humor. You know that dry wit of yours is just one of the things I won't miss about you." At these words, the Colonel's features grew hard and he raised his weapon a fraction higher. "Good bye, MacGyver."

"Ya' know," Mac interrupted, lifting his finger in a 'wait a minute' sort of way. "I didn't come down here alone."

"Of that I am well aware," Neilson shrugged, unimpressed. "But they are of no threat to me. After all if they were going to defend you with any kind of lethal force, they would have already done so, now wouldn't they?" Gesturing about to the dark, empty space, Neilson grew smug. "Look around you, MacGyver . . . I don't see anyone, do you?"

Setting his eyes just a bit harder, Mac refused to turn away. _If this fella' thinks I'm gonna' take that suggestion he's crazy . . . well, okay, crazier - I already knew the guy was a little nuts. _Smiling blandly, Mac stuffed both hands in his pockets and relaxed to one side. He was not about to give this man even an ounce of satisfaction. Besides since when was letting an armed enemy out of your sight such a good idea anyway?

Seeing this non-plussed un-reaction, Neilson smirked. "Don't worry, MacGyver," he gloated, resuming his previous train of thought. "I shall take great care in finding all of your cowardly friends . . . after I've taken care of you."

XXXXXXX

"No!"

Sam heard his own voice cut through the air like a knife. Leaving his place of cover, the young man then boldly moved forward. As he emerged from the darkness an automatic pistol could be seen in his hand - it's muzzle pointed solidly at the Colonel. "Don't move Neilson."

A chilling, almost numb feeling raced down MacGyver's spine - not because of the gun, but out of fear for his son. He knew beyond any shadow of doubt that Sam would never pull that trigger. What's more the thing probably wasn't even loaded. With this knowledge, however, came the undeniable truth that his son was vulnerable. Completely vulnerable. The sight of the young man standing there without shelter and without defense - all because of him, _for_ him - was almost more than Mac could take. His lax muscles at once became rigid and his determined eyes filled with a sea of emotions.

Neilson, on the other hand, had a mixed response to Sam's appearance. There was the initial shock tainted by fear, followed quickly by a renewed look of confidence. "Or what," he scoffed menacingly. "You'll blow me away?"

The harsh click of a weapon being readied instantly answered this challenge. An ominous beat of silence then followed forcing Neilson to reevaluate his opposition. At length he finally spoke. "The MacGyvers of this world don't use guns," he declared with surety. "That is a weakness of your father . . . and it is also yours. I know. Before taking you prisoner I did some research. You threatened to kill Chung, too . . . remember?" A superior smile etched itself onto the Colonel's mouth and he once again lifted his gun in Mac's direction.

"Killing Chung wouldn't have brought back my mother," Sam barked coldly. "Stopping you will save my father."

MacGyver watched the result of this not so subtle threat carefully. Neilson seemed quite taken aback at first, but a wisp of doubt could still be seen beneath the surface. Sensing that a word from him might help sway the situation, Mac entered the exchange. "Sam," he began, his voice gentle, but commanding. "This isn't the way." Immediately, the troubleshooter felt Neilson studying him - hard. Perhaps if he believed Mac was concerned, he might just think twice about doubting Sam's resolve. Swallowing hard, Mac again addressed his son. "Don't do this, Sam. Please . . . we'll find another way."

Sam felt a cold lump forming in the pit of his stomach. More than anything he wanted to believe that his father knew the truth - knew that this was all just a bluff to buy some time. But what if he didn't? What if those hurt, disappointed, pain filled words he'd just heard were really what Mac thought? Pushing this idea to the back of his mind, Sam forced himself to stay focused. Clenching his jaw just a bit tighter he ground out a reply. "Not this time, Dad," he murmured darkly. "I'm not losing you the way I lost Mom. I don't care what it takes."

These final words hung heavy in the air. Neilson's attention fairly bounced between MacGyver and his son. A look of abject dread still hung on the older man's face, while the younger one practically oozed with ruthless determination. As the seconds ticked by, an unfamiliar sensation of panic began to rise in the Colonel's being. This was one eventuality for which he was not prepared. "So," he growled at length. "We find ourselves at a stalemate."

The dangerous expression on Sam's face lightened ever so slightly and he replied. "Well, not exactly."

Even as the words sounded, Murdoc materialized out of the darkness and crashed side-long into Neilson. A shot rang out at the moment of impact and soon the two struggling men rammed into the floor. The metallic skidding of a gun on concrete followed announcing that the Colonel had lost his weapon. The physical altercation persisted, however, and, much to his chagrin, the semi-retired hit man found himself on the bottom of the heap.

Kicking the fallen ordinance farther out of reach while simultaneously abandoning his own weapon, Sam hurried forward. Arriving just as Neilson delivered a deft blow to his attacker, the young man wasted no time in joining the scuffle. Funneling all of his negative energy into the delivery of five consecutive Karate moves, Sam soon put an end to the Colonel's fight for freedom. His head pounding and his breathing ragged, he then backed away.

"You should have just let me shoot him," Murdoc griped, struggling to regain his legs. "That is what guns are made for."

Sam's face steeled with conviction at these words and he whirled on the hit man. "Well that's not what we were made for."

This pointed retort made Murdoc pause. A defensive flash of anger then crossed his features and he worked to re-school his appearance. A muffled growl later, he artfully changed the subject. "Lock down will be here any second. We should go."

Sam narrowed his eyes briefly, but nodded. "Right. Let's go - Dad?" When only a soft grunt rose in reply, he turned around sharply. There lying prone on the basement floor was his father. "Dad!" His heart racing, the young man hurried across the empty space. Dropping to his knees, he then snaked one arm beneath MacGyver's neck and shoulders, raising him off the ground. With his other hand, Sam began to search for an injury. In the almost non-existent light, though, such a task was not easy. "Dad . . ." he whispered. "It's Sam. Can you hear me? Where does it hurt?"

Mac groaned once more and his eyes started to flutter. Groping with his right hand, he reached toward his face. "Head," he mumbled vaguely. "S'okay. Justa' scratch - I think."

"Here, let me see," Sam murmured. Prodding as gently as possible, the young man ran his fingers across his father's right temple. When he passed the hairline, Mac hissed uncomfortably.

"Found it," the patient reported.

Sam winced at this response to his actions and began fishing for a cloth. Finding a clean strip left over from one of the guards uniforms he pressed it solidly onto the wound.

"Ah!" Mac fussed, tensing at the unexpected pressure.

"Hey, easy, easy . . ." Sam cautioned pulling his father just a bit closer. "You're right, it is a graze, but it's a bit deeper than you think. We need to get this bleeding stopped."

"We also need to get out of here," Murdoc snapped. "Rover Two to Command . . . Peter how much time have we got? . . . Wonderful."

"Whad'he say," Mac asked already straining to stand up.

"Fifty seven seconds."

"Ah, plenty of time," MacGyver rasped casually. Placing his own hand over the makeshift bandage, he took in a quick breath, and continued. "C'mon - let's go." With Sam's help, the troubleshooter then rose to an upright position. The room was spinning wildly and seemed to be changing colors, but other than that . . .

"I'll tell Peter we're on our way," Murdoc volunteered, seeing that his favorite enemy had begun feeling for his transmitter. "You just focus on staying vertical."

Mac nodded carefully in a vague sort of way and started walking as fast as he dared. By his side, Sam kept pace with his steps and held a steadying hand on his shoulder.

XXXXXXX

"Command to Rovers Three and Four, mission is accomplished, repeat mission is accomplished. Withdrawal imminent - minus fifty seconds remaining."

Still lost in a mass of mathematics, Jack and Nikki exchanged brief glances. The moment of truth was at hand.

"You better go open the gate," Dalton advised quietly. "If that timer goes before its rolling, we'll be locked in."

Nikki acknowledged receipt of this suggestion with a subtle gesture. "Borrow your tape measure?"

Jack grinned at the familiar request and handed over the instrument. "Go get 'em Jonesy."

XXXXXXX

"Here they come, Mr. Thornton!" Willis exclaimed. "They just left the basement."

"How's the hall?"

"Looks like it's clear - so's the reception room."

Engaging the proper switch, Pete relayed this update and waited. As he listened to the reply, he found himself wondering why Murdoc had taken over all radio contact. Knowing that this was not the time for unnecessary chatter, though, he swallowed the question down unasked.

XXXXXXX

The longer he kept moving the clearer Mac's head began to feel. Colors stopped mutating in front of his eyes and the world slowed from an all out spin to a more tolerable see-saw motion. Pleased by this improvement, Mac decided to quicken his pace. Sam murmured a protest at this action, but said objection was quite summarily dismissed.

"Keep moving," the troubleshooter ordered. Reaching a hand out to the wall, feet continuously moving forward, he soon came to the end of the passageway.

At this juncture, Murdoc moved into the lead. Verifying the 'all clear' Willis had given the reception area, he then darted from cover. Coming to a halt at the entrance of the final hallway, he keyed his radio and requested another update.

XXXXXXX

Still toying with his jumbled arithmetic, Jack slid an eye out to one side. With interest he watched Carpenter approach the guard monitoring the gate. As he observed, she became quite animated, going through a variety of gesticulations and pointing at both the toy plane and the power pole several times. When these activities at last came to a halt, Jack was pleased to see the security officer retreat into his 'shack' and begin rolling the gate. _That lady's a natural con-artist_, Jack thought, chuckling to himself.

XXXXXXX

Piling into the closest corner, Mac leaned heavily against the wall. _Finally, the side door - and with exactly twenty two seconds to spare! _Of course his push for speed had not come without a price. The added exertion had resulted in his surroundings once more taking on the appearance of a kaleidoscope. Concentrating hard, he worked to again find his center of balance.

By his father's side, Sam found himself also seeking the wall's support. His breathing was growing more ragged and his head seemed to be pounding loud enough for the world to hear. Intense physical exercise on the heels of what had probably been a concussion was definitely not such a good plan.

"Well, don't you two look lovely," Murdoc snipped, approaching their position.

"Whatch'it big fella'," Mac whispered back. "From where I stand the six of you don'look s'great, either."

Though his father seeing unhealthy Murdoc sextuplets was not really a good thing, Sam couldn't resist uttering a muffled snort at the comeback line. Unfortunately, with his already labored breathing, this reaction did not go over well. A soft round of coughs instantly began, and he struggled to get them under control.

Mac placed a steadying hand on his son's back and started murmuring instructions. "C'mon now, easy . . . breath in the nose, out the mouth. No gulping . . . nice'n slow . . . that's it." As soon as Sam started to show signs of improvement, Mac then elevated his voice and addressed the assassin. "Murdoc, get'a status on those patrols - we need to get outta here."

XXXXXXX

Moments later, Thornton was listening as Murdoc relayed this request. Nodding out of habit, the man then keyed his transmitter. "Received Rover Two, stand by." Moving his fingers down the control, Pete flipped the toggles for Jack and Nikki. "Command to Rovers three and four, please advise location of outer patrols . . . ten four." Disengaging the transmitters, Pete then moved his hand back up the remote. "Command to Rover two, be advised patrol is passing your position at this time. Allow ten seconds for clearance."

XXXXXXX

"Ten seconds," Murdoc grumbled under his breath. Pressing himself closer to the wall, he then looked toward his companions. Not that he really cared how they were faring, exactly, but it was something to do. Sam, he noted, was breathing somewhat easier now and Mac's eyes appeared much more focused. When the latter caught and returned his gaze, however, Murdoc grew uncomfortable. "What?" he hissed.

MacGyver drew a smile and shrugged mysteriously. "What, what?"

Grunting with annoyance, the assassin froze on the cusp of a biting reply. Pressing a finger to his lips, he then began listening intently. Was that footsteps?

XXXXXXX

"Sir, four subjects just left the basement and are heading to the reception area!" Willis announced practically tripping over his own tongue.

"Stay calm," Pete ordered. "I'm on it . . . Command to Rover two, guards entering the reception area at this time, headed your way."

XXXXXXX

"Thanks, we didn't know that," Murdoc shot back. Then, turning to his present company, he continued. "Time's up. Move out."

XXXXXXX

Still holding his position by the consulate wall, Jack monitored the unfolding events. At the side door he saw MacGyver slip through the exit and press himself into the outer alcove. A subtle hand motion later, found Sam following suit shadowed closely by Murdoc. Shifting to the front gate, Dalton's eyes then caught up with Nikki as she skillfully drew the gateman's attention away from the side door. Extended tape measure in hand, she soon proceeded to expound upon some point of vital importance. Glancing back to the escaping trio, he found Murdoc just slipping into the rear of the van.

XXXXXXX

"Command to Rover One, pursuing subjects are now entering the hallway. Eight seconds to lock down. Seven, six, five . . . "

Mac listened to Pete counting down and held his breath. With an iron grip on the handle, he then leaned his full weight against the door.

"Four, three . . ."

A jolt followed by heavy pounding reverberated through the knob. Mac's knuckles turned white off set by a deep red as he attempted to keep the unfriendlies at bay.

"Two, one. . ."

The door cracked open a fraction, only to be snapped back in place by the troubleshooter.

_Click!_

"Lock down in effect . . . Mac? How'd it work?"

"We got'em, Pete!"

XXXXXXX

Looking up once more, Jack glimpsed Sam entering the van. Back in the alcove, Mac appeared to have moved forward, obviously preparing to make his exit as well. Strumming his fingers impatiently, Jack then began humming 'Any Day Now', willing his friend along.

XXXXXXX

Stepping down, Mac abandoned his position of cover just as a spray of gunfire sounded from behind. Flinching when the bullets collided with the now sealed door, he broke into an all out run.

XXXXXXX

At the gate, Nikki's one man audience instantly reacted to the noise. Drawing his weapon and swiveling to the left he prepared himself for anything - except Carpenter. Utilizing the metal encased tape measure, she delivered one good, solid blow to the back of his neck. Thus ended all show of resistance at the gate.

XXXXXXX

Jack, on the other hand, was not quite so efficient. After all with five guards idling before him, there was no way he could take them all down at once. This being the case, he opted for a more scatter-the-enemy-and-run-for-dear-life sort of approach. When the guards turned toward the commotion, he charged ahead screaming like a man with good sense. As he broke through the startled men's ranks he managed to grab a hold of the length of wire that had been entrusted to their care. Pulling with all of his might, Dalton waited until the opposing tension seemed to have reached its peak and then let go with a shout. This maneuver sent three of the five guards reeling backwards and the other two hurtling forward. Breaking into a run at this point, Jack saw with satisfaction that Mac was just jumping into the rear of the van.

"I'm coming guys!" he yelled. "I'm coming!"

This victory cry was short-lived, though, as a hand began grasping for his collar. Pulling out his only remaining weapon - the math swamped clipboard - Jack began swatting madly at his pursuer. This tactic bought him a bit of space and he wasted no time in seizing the advantage. A few steps later, found him leaping cleanly into the van's driver seat. Bringing the engine roaring to life, Jack then punched the gas and plowed ahead. As he rounded the first corner, a group of guards arrayed themselves in a show of challenge. Raising their weapons, they immediately began firing at will.

"Stand back, boys, I've got places to go!" Jack warned again stepping on the accelerator. In response to this action, the guards quickly abandoned their posts and went scrambling out of the way. Rolling back to their feet, they then instantly resumed firing. The rounds nipped at the van's fender and pinged across its broadside, but thankfully yielded little to no damage.

Screeching to a rolling stop at the gate, Dalton slowed down just long enough for Nikki to climb aboard. While she was being collected, Mac cracked open the back door and hurled the box of nails across the driveway. The sticks of metal scattered in a broad swath over the cement, landing in tandem with more enemy bullets. MacGyver flinched, pulling his head and arm once more into the safety of the van's rear compartment. The vehicle lurched forward, Jack having again trounced the gas pedal, and they spun into the roadway. A final rain of bullets marked this retreat, but soon all was quiet.

XXXXXXX

Still clinging to the passenger seat, Nikki stared straight ahead. She couldn't believe it . . . had their plan really just worked? Checking the rear view mirror for possible threats, she began to smile. They were not being followed – thanks to the newly introduced nail hazard - there were no more flying bullets, no more angry shouts. They'd really made it. Spinning around in a sudden rush of excitement she looked into the back of the van. The three passengers were all there, sitting in sprawled heaps on the floor. Gazing at each one in turn, her eyes soon came to rest on MacGyver. The smile she offered him was instantly returned with one of the largest grins she'd ever seen.

"Well, kids," he announced happily. "I think we did it."

XXXXXXX

Two hours later at a hospital in Los Angeles . . . .

"Pete," Mac practically whined. "I'm fine and you know I hate hospitals!"

"Look, who's giving the orders around here?" Pete reminded him firmly. "I may not be your boss anymore, but I am still the closest thing you've got to a father and I say you're staying."

"But Pete . . ."

"Besides, I promised Sam I'd make you stay."

"What?!"

"He's worried about you, Mac and so am I. Now c'mon. What can one night hurt? It's just for observation."

"What about Sam?" the troubleshooter questioned, changing the subject. "The doctors haven't let me see him yet?"

"Well, if it helps you make up your mind, they want to hold him overnight for observation, too. Apparently he suffered a mild  
concussion due to the accident along with some moderate to severe bruising."

Mac took this news with a slow shake of the head and seemed to reconsider his options.

"He's threatening to sign himself out of the hospital if you refuse to be admitted," Pete added, his tone cajoling. Still sensing his friend's hesitation, he tried another approach. "The doctor says that both of you would be on the same monitoring schedule, so you could share a room."

There was a long moment of silence and then a heavy exhale . . . the MacGyver will had just met its match.

XXXXXXX

One hour later in hospital room 212 . . .

Mac and Sam lay settled, albeit reluctantly, in their hospital beds. Each were in a semi-raised position with an untouched tray of 'lunch' parked nearby. Pete, Nikki, Jack, Willis, and Helen occupied the remaining space of the room, sitting or standing as the area permitted. At the moment, all eyes were on Nikki as she began an oral report of their current situation.

"So, I've done some checking," she commenced. "And turns out my hunch was right. Almost every member of the consulate's security staff was operating under an assumed name. I've managed to pin down several of their ID's and from what I can find, they are all wanted by the German government for crimes against their country and or acts of terrorism. Of these, more than half are known to have ties to Killing Incorporated."

"Quite an operation," Pete commented thoughtfully. "What about the resident German Consul - Richter isn't it? - where does he stand in all of this?"

"Yes, Hans Richter; and this is where things get interesting," Nikki continued. "Evidently, he's known of their activities for a while now, or at least he's had his suspicions. According to his superiors back in Germany, he's been working to gather evidence against them for months, Neilson in particular."

"Really? So, besides going after MacGyver, what else have they been up to?" Willis prompted growing intrigued.

"Well, among other things, using the consulate as a sort of funnel - an outlet if you will - for some of Germany's most wanted criminals. KInc has apparently been manufacturing new identities for these men, burying them in the system and then arranging to have them placed in various positions throughout the Americas; especially the consulate here in California."

"Impressive," Mac murmured. "So what happens now?"

"Actually, it's already happened," Nikki returned with satisfaction. "Richter contacted me a little over an hour ago. Thanks to Sam's testimony, his government has agreed to take immediate action. Joint operations consisting of both Phoenix agents and German intelligence officers are being assembled even as we speak. They'll be divided into five teams and will strike the affected consulates and embassies simultaneously at 1700 hours PST."

"Well, there you go," Pete said with an expanse of his hands. "Sounds like they've thought of everything."

"I agree. Nikki, you are a model of efficiency and a wealth of knowledge," Dalton praised. "But I _do_ still have a couple questions."

Rolling her eyes toward the pilot, Carpenter smirked indulgently. "Yes Jack. What is it?"

"One: Where has our favorite assassin got off to?"

"Murdoc?" Nikki clarified. Upon receiving a nod, she merely shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest. He vanished somewhere between the van and the hospital, I think - current destination unknown. Next question."

Pouting at this uninformative answer, Jack nevertheless moved on to his next query. "Two: Do I get my toy airplane back?"

Raising her voice to be heard over the now rippling sounds of laughter, Carpenter managed a reply. "Yes, Jack. I explained everything to Consul Richter and have arranged to send a Phoenix repair team in as soon as possible. They will recover whatever is left of your plane and return the pieces to you, I promise."

Grinning at this, the pilot then gallantly offered Nikki his arm. "Well, in that case milady, may I suggest . . ."

Dalton's flirtatious offer was cut short, however, by the sudden appearance of the head nurse. Flanked by two of her subordinates, the determined woman immediately took charge.

"People, these men need their rest. Toward that end, visiting privileges for them are to be suspended in exactly two minutes. If you have not removed yourselves by that time I will have you forcibly ejected. Understood?"

A unanimous swallow of fear passed through the visitors and they obediently shook their heads. "Yes ma'am."

XXXXXXX

Two and a half minutes later, the patients' once crowded room was completely empty. The echo of warm good-nights and well-wishes still lingered in the air, along with the retreating squeak of nurses' shoes. Once these sounds had vanished, all was quiet. The stillness reigned for a time and then . . .

"Man, I hate hospitals."

Muttered in unison, this statement caused Mac and Sam to exchange looks. The unintentional unity of their thoughts never ceased to amaze them. It was indeed something very special.

"I feel like an Egyptian mummy," Sam mumbled, eyeing his crisp, white sheets. "How 'bout you?"

"Now that you mention it . . ." The rest of Mac's sentence was left unfinished, though, as he fell to considering the offensive covers. Moments later he began yanking on them indiscriminately. This attempt at 'tactful readjustment' lasted briefly, but soon the troubleshooter fell still. When the last billow had relaxed into place, he uttered a groan.

"What is it, Dad?"

"It's not any better," he declared with a complex frown.

Laughing, Sam shook his head sympathetically. "That's too bad. If it'd worked I was going to try it myself."

Mac smiled and gave his son a shrug of apology. Leaning back, he let a tired sigh ease through his lips and another quiet pause ensued. A few minutes later, Sam spoke.

"Dad?" he ventured, toying with the hem on his sheets.

"Yeah?"

"About the gun . . ."

"What about it?"

Hearing the gentle, understanding tone, Sam looked at his father. Meeting the dark brown eyes with his own, the young man instantly felt encouraged. Taking a steadying breath, he continued. "Were you . . . were you upset - with me?"

Mac's face grew compassionate and he slowly shook his head. "No. Never."

"You, you mean you weren't - _aren't_ . . . disappointed?"

Climbing out of bed, Mac moved to Sam's side. Perching along the edge of his mattress, he then answered. "There weren't any bullets in that gun, were there?"

It was a statement, rather than a question, and the conviction with which it was said caught Sam completely off guard. Sitting up with a start, he again searched the dark eyes before him. "But how did you . . ?"

"Because I know you Sam A. Malloy," Mac replied proudly. "And you have never disappointed me."

Swallowing hard, Sam dropped his eyes. "I hoped you knew," he began quietly. "But then I thought . . ."

"Well," MacGyver interrupted. "You thought wrong." Tucking a hand beneath Sam's chin, he gave it a gentle pull. When at last their gazes locked, Mac continued. "Those words I said were meant for Neilson - not you."

Sam nodded vigorously, but again broke eye contact.

"Sam," Mac prompted. "Look at me."

Obediently the young man complied, his vision swimming. The sensation of a hand affectionately touching his cheek clouded Sam's sight even more and he sucked in a gulp of air. Through the growing mist, he then heard his father speak.

"Never second guess your heart, son . . . and never, never doubt my faith in you."

Nodding again, Sam felt his father drawing him close. Immediately, his arms wrapped around MacGyver in return. Burying himself in the warmth and love he found there, Sam held on just a bit tighter.

"Thanks, Dad."

XXXXXXX

Tag Scene: One week later

Christmas Day at Pete's Cabin . . .

MacGyver stood in the small kitchen, a quizzical expression etched on his face. Several cabinets stood open and dishes lay piled in various heaps along the counter. Laughter could be heard drifting in from the adjoining room along with the murmurs of Christmas music. Anxious to get back to his guests, or more appropriately his family, Mac again scanned the kitchen. Raking a hand through his hair he began muttering to himself. "Now if I were a box of _Swiss Miss_ hot chocolate packets, where would I be?" As he pondered this question, the troubleshooter froze. Staring out the window, he could hardly believe his eyes. Surely that wasn't what - who - he thought it was . . . or was it? Moving to the back door, he silently slipped out to investigate. As he walked, Mac rolled down the sleeves of his flannel and performed a visual search of the woods' edge. When a brief movement caught his attention, he nodded knowingly and came to a halt.

"Murdoc?"

All was still for a while, then the assassin's slim form slid out of the forest and into view. An enigmatic grin decorated his face and he slowly walked forward.

"MacGyver."

In some mysterious way, this single word managed to convey both a greeting and a challenge. Mac remained relaxed, offering only his best Minnesota smile in return. "So . . . whatcha' doin'?"

Detecting the mid-western drawl, Murdoc rolled eyes. "Ever the innocent, eh MacGyver?"

The troubleshooter shrugged and took a few steps closer. "I never did get to thank you for all your help," he observed, redirecting the conversation. "Without you, Sam might not have made it."

The retired hit-man tilted his head arrogantly and looked toward the horizon. "Yes, well, don't let my brief lapse of morals cloud your vision. I still intend to kill you - eventually."

"Is that what you came to tell me?" Mac asked unruffled.

"That or Merry Christmas, I can't remember which."

MacGyver ducked his head and chuckled. "Yeah, well Merry Christmas to you, too, Murdoc. And thanks." Extending his hand, the troubleshooter then locked eyes with his long time enemy. Under normal circumstances, even getting close to Murdoc would have been unwise - or make that life threatening - but this was different. He wasn't sure why, it just was. A second later he felt the assassin's hand grip his in return. There were no explosions, no springing knives, just a smooth leather glove. Smiling at the rare moment of peace, Mac then withdrew his hand. "So long, Murdoc." With that he turned and strode back to the cabin.

XXXXXXX

Closing the door behind him, MacGyver again eyed the kitchen. "Hot chocolate," he rumbled to himself. "C'mon, it must be around here some where." Crossing to a far cabinet, he then resumed his previously interrupted search. Seconds later he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Without even looking, he tossed an easy greeting over his shoulder. "Hey Pete. What's up?"

Thornton smiled at the recognition and came a bit closer. "Having trouble?"

"Not anymore," Mac announced triumphantly, pulling forth the object of his quest. "Just found it. Now . . . why don't you tell me what's really on your mind."

Pete grunted with amusement at the man's bluntness. "Am I that obvious?"

"No," Mac rejoined with a smile. "I just know you _that_ well. So c'mon Pete, shoot." Abandoning his hot chocolate mix, the troubleshooter gave his friend his full attention.

Thornton took in a deep breath and began. "Well, I know how hard this time of year is for you, Mac and, well I guess I was just wondering how you feel about all - this." In his own quiet way, Pete motioned to the area around him. The gesture seemed to encompass everything from the remaining scent of Christmas dinner in the air, to the sounds of music, to the sight of holiday decorations.

Mac smiled warmly at this show of concern and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You know, Pete, when Sam first suggested this trip, I really wasn't sure how I felt. For so many years, all Christmas has meant to me was an ugly reminder of, well, everything I wanted to forget." MacGyver hesitated, before continuing in a soft voice. "I could have lost him, Pete. Just like I lost Mom, Dad . . . all of them."

"But you didn't," Thornton reminded gently. "He's here. We're all here."

Mac met the warm, dim eyes and smiled. "I know Pete - I've thought about nothing else for the past week. It's hard to believe, but for first time in years, I . . . well I guess I've finally figured it out."

"What's that?"

"That Christmas isn't a time to think about what we've lost . . . or of what we could lose. It's a time to remember what we've been given." Mac paused, squeezing the shoulder under his grasp. "And from where I'm standing, Pete, I've been given an awful lot."

Thornton's face eased into a grin. "It's good to hear you say that, MacGyver, really good . . . So, does this mean no more running away?"

"Yep," Mac answered brightly, returning to his hot chocolate mix. "No more running away. I'm in the here and now, and that's where I'm gonna' stay. I've got the love of my son, a wonderful family of friends . . . my Swiss Army Knife, a roll of duct tape, and a fresh box of paper clips. What more could I ask for?"

Pete started laughing and clapped his long time friend on the back. "Welcome home, MacGyver. Welcome home."

**The End**


End file.
